Dawn of the Chaos Bringer Volume II: Reckoning
by QuantumSheep
Summary: A direct continuation of Dawn of the Chaos Bringer: The Autobots are scattered and struggling, a powerful Decepticon is at large and Sam Witwicky is on the run from a rogue human organization. To top it off, a dark ancient force is waiting to re-emerge...
1. Breakaway's Awakening

**Author's Introduction:**

The following story follows on directly from _Dawn of the Chaos Bringer_, my other Transformers story. It is highly recommended you read that before you read this, especially considering the plot is somewhat complicated. At the moment, I'm stumped as to whether I should finish this story in its entirety. If you want to get to the epic conclusion then reviewing is appreciated. Then again, I may or may not finish it depending on what I feel about the story. Regardless, I'll be posting what I've written so far for you to enjoy.

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**Prologue:  
****Breakaway's Awakening**

"_There is only one Unicron."_

_Breakaway looked up, eyeing Centurion carefully. The lights of the bunker cast a dry white glow upon Centurion, sending a glistening sheen across his jagged, intimidating grey metal frame._

"_He travels from reality to reality within the Multiverse," Centurion continued, "He devours everything until nothing exists…not even time itself. He is the only God worthy of worship."_

_Breakaway did not at all like where this conversation was going. Centurion stood over him, peering down at the Autobot Seeker with a malevolent glare. Breakaway tried the energy straps that bound him in his chair but it was no use: he was stuck, faced with a lunatic Decepticon. The room they were in was fairly large and square, with one door in the far wall and a single seat that Breakaway currently occupied._

"_I ask you Breakaway: are you willing to take Unicron as your God?" Centurion asked, leaning forwards as his red optics regarded the Autobot Seeker with complete seriousness._

_Breakaway did not reply immediately. Rather, he began to doubt why he had gotten himself into this situation. The plan had been simple enough: infiltrate Centurion's forces, feed information about them to Optimus Prime and the other Autobots and thus help the war effort. It was a dangerous task, going undercover. Breakaway was marked as an Autobot and the only way to be accepted into Centurion's ranks was to make it completely clear that he had truly defected to Centurion's Decepticon force. That would mean enduring whatever tests and initiation rites Centurion forced him through. He feared that Centurion had settled on a plan that involved destroying Breakaway's mind. It was the only safe option, ensuring that Breakaway was cleared of all Autobot ideologies before his acceptance into Centurion's ranks._

_Breakaway had given up his normal life to go undercover. He knew the risks involved, he knew there was a chance he might not return to his normal life. There was a chance he would die, perhaps from horrific torture. If he had a heart it would be racing wildly right now since he had the distinct feeling that he was about to be subjected to torture. He could see it in Centurion's optics, he could tell from the Decepticon's malevolent smile: Centurion was going to enjoy this._

"_Do not give me the silent treatment, Breakaway," Centurion said. His right hand went to his side, removing some sort of long pointed metal pole, one that rippled with blue energy. Breakaway watched as Centurion gripped the baton, tapping it against his other hand as he awaited Breakaway's answer._

"_I want an answer," Centurion added. He pointed the tip of the pain-stick at Breakaway's chest area. Breakaway kept a straight face but his fear was betrayed by the fact that his cooling fans went into overdrive. Their once faint hum had become a raucous and loud whirr, one that broke the relative silence of the interrogation room. Somewhere above, through several layers of rock and metal an explosion occurred. A thin trail of dust fell from the ceiling and sprinkled into Breakaway's face, the grains of dust sticking themselves into the slight indentations on his robotic features._

_Breakaway had given up his life, it seemed. He would not even make it past whatever initiation Centurion was about to carry out on him. This whole undercover operation had gone awry already…The thought that he would die made him think of Chromia: she was his mate, his interface partner. She was the only one he loved. And he had left her to go undercover. She did not even know that he had gone undercover…rather, Breakaway had told her that he was going away for a while and would come back eventually. In essence he had lied to her but it had been for the good of the mission: the less Cybertronians that knew of his undercover work the more likely it was to succeed._

"_All those who wish to enter my forces must swear their allegiance to me and take Unicron as their God," Centurion said, his tone growing impatient. He waved the pain-stick about in his right hand, Breakaway's optics falling upon the device and watching it with trepidation._

"_Tell me, Seeker: Do you have a faith? Do you believe in a God? And, if so, which God do you believe in?" Centurion eyed Breakaway carefully as he asked the question. Breakaway was silent for a moment, confused as to who this "Unicron" figure was whilst trying to think if he did indeed believe in any divine beings._

"_You are an Autobot," Centurion added, "Hence, I suspect you take Primus as your God. Is that the case with you, Seeker?"_

"_Primus?" Breakaway asked. He knew of the figure, Primus being the divine being that represented all that was good and light. Breakaway had never been the religious type and as such had barely heard of Primus and had heard nothing of Unicron until now._

"_The Lord of all that is light," Centurion said with noticeable disgust, as if the idea repulsed him, "Judging by your response, I take it that you are not the religious type. And, from this I can make the assumption that you are not a believer in Unicron. Am I correct?"_

Breakaway's cooling fans eased, their high-powered engine-like whoosh subsiding into a much quieter hum. He could see that regardless of his response, Centurion would torture him anyway, if only for his own amusement. Breakaway accepted this and he knew that deep down he could never take on a religion at the drop of a hat: no, he would need some convincing. He prepared himself for what was to come whilst carefully thinking through his answer.

"_I don't believe in any sort of higher power," Breakaway replied, his tone one of resignation. His optics went to the pain-stick once again which Centurion gripped._

_Centurion seemed satisfied with this response. An evil smile played across his metallic features, one that made his set of jagged metal teeth briefly visible. They flashed in the bright white light of the room while Centurion's red optics narrowed as he contemplated what to do with the Autobot Seeker._

"_I had my assumptions about you, Seeker," Centurion said, "It seems that most of them were correct. And if there's something I enjoy more than anything, it is educating someone in the wisdom of Unicron. You've just made my day…Breakaway."_

_Breakaway only had to wait a second or two for Centurion to plunge the pain-stick straight through his chest and into his life-spark. The amazing thing about pain-sticks was that they were capable of causing such indescribable levels of agony whilst keeping the victim alive. Breakaway convulsed and cried out as sheer agony coursed through his form, burning away at his very life essence. And as much as he begged Centurion to stop it did not stop. It would not stop for a long time, and even then the Autobot Seeker's agonies were not over._

_

* * *

  
_

"_The Breakaway I know may as well be dead."_

It was with immense effort that the Autobot Seeker known as Breakaway emerged from recharge (which was more or less the Autobot equivalent of sleep). In his dreams fragmented memories had returned but those fragments had been quite vivid, displaying the parts of his tumultuous life that he would have preferred remained forgotten.

There was pain erupting from Breakaway's lower half. His optics systems flared into life, shimmering lines of interference crossing his view momentarily before his eyesight returned to its proper state. Pain, excruciatingly burning pain was erupting from somewhere below his waist.

Breakaway was about thirty-five to forty feet tall, bearing the desert camouflage pattern of the F-35 fighter jet he was able to transform into. The tail of the jet sat at his lower back, the wings reaching out from the backs of his shoulders. His head was nestled within the open canopy of the jet fuselage that took up his immediate front. The look it provided was one of being taller than the height of his head, giving him a fairly intimidating appearance.

"_The Breakaway I know may as well be dead."_

Who had said that? Breakaway struggled to remember. It had only been mere days ago, spoken to him by…Chromia. His only true love, one whom he had not seen for many solar cycles until recently. And when they had reunited she had wanted nothing to do with him. He had left her, he had lied to her about where he had been going…and he had entered the company of the Decepticons, forced to accept their beliefs while keeping those of the Autobots deep within his mind. Centurion would have routed them out easily if Breakaway had so much as shown any hints of the Autobot he actually was. It was a fact that most Seekers defected to the Decepticons so Breakaway, being one of few Seekers that were still allied to the Autobots had been an obvious choice to go undercover. Optimus Prime could not have foreseen the hell that Breakaway would be put through during his time undercover.

Centurion had tortured him during the first few days, keeping him locked in an interrogation room, denying him the ability to recharge, beating him frequently. Originally the torture had been to ensure that Breakaway was strong enough for Centurion's forces and would accept Unicron as his God…However, it had taken only a few days for Centurion to get a bit carried away, beating Breakaway for his own amusement and forcing him to endure the powers of the pain-stick quite frequently. Finally Breakaway had broken, or at least made himself out to have broken under the pressure. In fact, he still had his mission details running through his mind, knowing that feeding information to the Autobots would help the war effort immensely.

From then on Breakaway had served in Centurion's forces, climbing his way up the ranks until he had become one of Centurion's closest and most trusted soldiers. He had been rewarded well, given access to plenty of interface partners as Seekers like him required to interface on a regular basis. Breakaway hated himself for it when he thought back on it all now, admitting that he had been disloyal to Chromia and that he could never redeem himself.

Breakaway had made good his chance of escape when Centurion had disappeared one day and without a trace, departing from the Decepticon's forces and going into hiding on Cybertron. By that time most of the Autobots and Decepticons were beginning to leave, most going in search of the Allspark. Breakaway had found a group of Autobots to stay with until very recently Starscream had returned, discovered their existence and killed them all save for Breakaway. It had been luck that had saved Breakaway from an untimely demise at the hands of Starscream.

Breakaway hated himself for all that he had done during his time working undercover in Centurion's Decepticon forces. He had killed unarmed prisoners, he had interfaced with numerous despicable Decepticons…he was a disgrace to the Autobots. If Optimus Prime knew the details of the things that Breakaway had done during his time undercover it seemed very likely that the Autobot leader would exile Breakaway from the Autobot ranks. The Seeker simply did not deserve to be an Autobot. He was as twisted and manipulative as any Decepticon. He may as well have been a Decepticon judging by all the things he had done.

Breakaway found himself lying in hot, dry sand. He switched on his optics, finding that he was staring straight up at a clear blue sky. Judging by the position of the sun it might have been four o'clock in the afternoon, certainly around-about that time. Turning his head he glanced to his left and then to his right. He was surrounded by open desert plains, mesas and buttes dotting the landscape. A few smaller rock formations were nearby. The ground was covered with scattered desert shrubs and grasses while somewhere up high a human passenger jet flew by, leaving behind it a narrow white contrail. It was about twenty-five thousand feet up by the look of it, nothing but a small shape against the blue sky.

The pain at Breakaway's lower half had subsided only slightly. He looked down and saw that both of his legs had been burnt away, leaving nothing but scorched melted metal stumps. He would have gasped in surprise but he suddenly remembered why his legs were gone. Liquid energon and molten metal seeped out of the stumps and a small puddle had gathered on the sand near them, hinting that he was losing a lot of precious energon fluid. Most of the wounds had been cauterised, leaving nothing but solid melted shapes that vaguely resembled the inner workings of his legs they had once been. However, that parts that hadn't been healed by the heat of the energy that had struck him were bleeding profusely. He would need some repairs immediately if he didn't want to start conserving his life energy.

He remembered what had happened quite clearly to put him in this state: he had been dispatched from NEST headquarters on Diego Garcia, sent to investigate a small naval skirmish that had been taking place off the coast of California. Arriving at the scene of the battle he had encountered the Decepticon known as Tidal Wave, a massive Cybertronian who had the alternate form of a _Nimitz_-class aircraft carrier. He had crippled Breakaway and had grabbed hold of the Autobot Seeker, deciding to hand him over to Centurion since it was more than likely Centurion would want to torture Breakaway for the fun of it. Why Breakaway was lying in the middle of a desert he had no idea about, but it certainly seemed a welcome occurrence. He had been expecting to see Centurion's leering face looking down at him…

No, wait, things were not as good as Breakaway would have preferred: Tidal Wave was here. He was standing some distance away, towering over the desert plain in his full robot form. His red optics fell upon the Autobot and he took a step towards him, a dark shadow falling upon Breakaway.

The Autobot Seeker felt terror strike into his very being. Slowly and somewhat weakly Breakaway outstretched his right arm, changing it into its sniper rifle form. He had to summon all of his remaining strength to squeeze of a shot, watching with dismay as the shot simply glanced off of the frontal armour of Tidal Wave's form. The Decepticon laughed loudly before bending down and using one massive hand to pin Breakaway's sniper rifle arm onto the ground.

Before Breakaway could react the giant Decepticon had torn the arm out of its socket. Energon fluid flowed freely from the Autobot's shoulder, a whole new wave of agonizing pain erupting from where the arm had once been attached. Breakaway shouted and writhed where he lay, using his left hand to try and stem the energon flow. His strength was minimal and his body was telling him to go into recharge, if only to spare himself from anymore agony. It was then that Breakaway gave the Autobot equivalent of a faint, blacking out…

Seconds later Tidal Wave had to shake him out of unconsciousness and back into reality. The massive Decepticon stood over him, battle scars visible across his form. A smaller Decepticon, one that was undoubtedly a Seeker, climbed down from Centurion's shoulder and stopped by Breakaway's side.

The Seeker was about Breakaway's height, black and a dark red colour with wings that spread from her shoulders. Yes, she was clearly female: Breakaway could detect this much. He remembered the Decepticon jets that Tidal Wave had been sending forth during the battle and correctly reckoned that this Seeker was one of them. Her red optics looked upon Breakaway's ravaged form with some slight condescension, as if she thought little of the Autobot.

Breakaway had since used his remaining arm to pick up the one that had been torn from its socket. Rather fruitlessly he tried reattaching it but such a feat would require the proper medical equipment. Unfortunately he had no medical equipment, thus he could only stow the arm to the side for now.

"To think…An Autobot Seeker!" The female Seeker spoke with a tone of contempt. Despite this the look in her red optics told Breakaway that she was thinking something else, something to do with the Autobot.

Breakaway was confused, ravaged by painful memories of what had happened to him in the past. And now here he was, in a similarly vulnerable situation, forced to endure agony and reduced to an almost limbless torso. He had his left arm still and he was determined to keep it attached to him.

The female Decepticon Seeker bent her knee-joints, becoming almost level with Breakaway. She looked into his eyes and made a malevolent smile. Tidal Wave had since turned his attention elsewhere, the energy emanating from him hinting that he was in the process of searching through the human Internet.

"Your name is Breakaway, is it not?" The female Seeker asked.

Breakaway tried to speak. Instead, a metallic grinding sound emerged. It took him a moment to recalibrate his speech processors, having found that they had been put out of synch by the damage he had received. He slowly sat up, gazing at the female Seeker and trying to determine just why she seemed to be showing such an interest in him.

"Yes," Breakaway replied, his voice a metallic rasp. It lacked the usual vitality and upbeat-edge.

"A peculiar name," The female replied, looking around thoughtfully for a moment as if she was running the name through her mind again and again.  
"And yours is any better?" Breakaway asked, his attitude returning. For all the damage his body had taken, his personality was still the same. He was not about to let some female Seeker give him trouble, that was for sure.

The female Seeker gave a malevolent frown and rather suddenly stuck a hand into Breakaway's left leg stump. She found one of the sensitive energon lines there and her subsequent pull of it sent a shot of incredible pain shooting up the leg stump and into Breakaway's stomach and chest. The Autobot cried out involuntarily and writhed where he lay. The female Seeker took her fingers free of Breakaway's left leg stump and simply smiled.

"My call-sign is 'Slipstream'," the female Seeker replied, "However, in the ranks of the great Centurion only those of importance are named properly. During my short time on Earth I have taken a liking to the human name…" She trailed off, as if going into thought.

Breakaway relaxed where he lay, the pain she had dealt him having since subsided. His body still ached all over and where his right arm had been attached stung admirably. He did not like this Slipstream Seeker, he could tell that she was the type who took enjoyment in the suffering of others. All of the Decepticons seemed to be like that.

"I like the human name of 'Iris'," Slipstream replied. She did not seem at all flustered by this admission, even if Breakaway found it odd. Then again, he found Slipstream odd in her entirety. He was especially made uneasy by the odd glimmer in her red optics, the one that hinted that there was more than just a captive-prisoner relationship between them, as if she thought that it could become anymore than that.

"What do you want me to call you then?" Breakaway asked, summoning the courage to speak again, "Slipstream or Iris?"

Slipstream gave the Cybertronian equivalent of a shrug. Breakaway now had the worry that this unpredictable Decepticon might provide more pain if he called her the wrong name.

"Either will do," she said. She paused, a brief silence occurring between the two. A gentle breeze billowed across the desert plain, rattling the small desert shrubs that were scattered around while stirring some of the topmost layers of sand. Breakaway was disoriented by all that had happened today, thus he had no clue as to where he was. He could not access the human Internet, there was something wrong with the systems that allowed him to connect. He assumed it was something to do with the damage he had received in battle.

"You're not making this any easier for me," Breakaway said. Slipstream looked at him somewhat curiously.

"How so?"

"The names. Which name do you want me to call you?"

"I told you, it doesn't matter," Slipstream replied. She shot Breakaway a look that told the Autobot to shut up. After a brief pause she started talking again, this time her voice seemed to fill with pride. Breakaway simply lay back on the sand and listened to her as she spoke, trying to clear his own mind and gather his bearings. He knew he needed to escape but how he could do that in his current state was beyond him. It occurred to him then that he might be able to take advantage of Slipstream's obvious liking for him.

"I know you are familiar with Centurion," Slipstream said, "He is a great leader, and I am sure you would know that. You did, after all, betray him. Why do you think he wants you alive? He wants to convert you, Breakaway. He knows you have the potential to be a great warrior for his cause. Rather than kill you, he wants to use you since he does not believe in wasting such talents as yours, Breakaway. You did work for him back during the war on Cybertron, did you not? I was not around then…"

"How old are you?" Breakaway asked. It occurred to him that Slipstream could be very young…very young indeed.

"He thought highly of you. But when he discovered that you were with the Autobots…You should have seen the rage he entered. I was with him at the time and in his anger, in his sheer enragement he even threatened to kill me and anyone else who got in his way. He wants you, Breakaway, if only to talk to you. After what happened when you encountered him a few nights ago, he wants your services. You are a Seeker, like myself. Our kind are useful for gathering intelligence…"

"How old are you?"

Again, she seemed to ignore the question. Breakaway decided he would not bother to ask again until he was certain that Slipstream had finished with her spouting off of her sheer awe of Centurion. It was obvious that Centurion exerted much control over his subordinates…more so than had been when Breakaway had worked undercover in Centurion's forces.

"He wishes to bring our kind into a new Golden Age. He wishes to bring our God out of his outer-dimensional prison, to free him so that he may spread his influence once more…"

"You're insane," Breakaway said bluntly. Slipstream stopped and without so much as blinking had stuck her fingers into Breakaway's left leg stump again. The Autobot gave a metallic howl and began to writhe involuntarily.

"My father is a great leader, is he not?"

"Your…_father_?" Breakaway was allowed to relax as Slipstream removed her metal fingers from out of his left leg stump. However, upon hearing her admission to the fact that Centurion was her father Breakaway had tensed and sat up.

"Yes, Centurion is my father," Slipstream said, "Why is that so hard to believe?"

Breakaway was at a loss for words. Slipstream was somewhat nonchalant, simply shaking her head and continuing to speak.

"He has interfaced with many Cybertronians in his long and grand lifetime," she continued, "Including many Seekers. Naturally, I was born from one of them as a result."

It occurred to Breakaway that he was faced with a rather fanatical follower of Centurion. The fanaticism was evident in her optics while deep inside her Breakaway detected something else, some other feeling that added to his uneasiness. Slipstream was silent for a moment, giving Breakaway the chance to carefully think about what she had been saying. It seemed likely that Slipstream had been raised to be a fanatic about her father and the "great things" he did, perhaps so much so that she did not actually have her own personality. She was merely an extension of Centurion's will, one free of true individual thought. At least, this seemed the logical assumption to make. Slipstream certainly seemed in awe of her father, more so than any ordinary daughter should have been. She had been brainwashed, as had the rest of Centurion's followers (what few of them remained, anyway). Tidal Wave was no different and neither was Prometheus. The other Decepticons were not of Centurion's ranks and rather served under Megatron. Breakaway suddenly felt quite vulnerable, especially because of the look in Slipstream's eyes, the one that was beneath that glint of fanaticism.

"You look uneasy, Breakaway," Slipstream said, sounding amused. Nearby, Tidal Wave had sat himself down, leaving a sizeable indentation in the desert sands. He seemed bored and so watched Slipstream and Breakaway since they were the only real interesting feature on the landscape.

"Why are we here?" Breakaway asked. He was tiring of being left out of the loop. He had thought that Tidal Wave would take him straight to Centurion rather than subject him to some crazy Decepticon Seeker, one whom happened to be Centurion's daughter. "No, better yet: Where are we?"

Slipstream managed a quick laugh, as if Breakaway's cluelessness amused her. It most likely did and the thought annoyed the Autobot, if only slightly. He was still in far too vulnerable a position to show any sort of amusement for he feared that Slipstream, in her rather nonchalant manner, would subject him to more agonizing pain. She seemed to enjoy doing it, a fact that did not surprise Breakaway in the slightest.

"Where are we, you ask?" Slipstream said. She took a look around them, gazing across the open desert plains, her optics falling upon a distant mesa that towered over the valley. She turned back to look at Breakaway, smiling as she did so. Again, Breakaway was unnerved by her demeanour, especially by her smile.

"We are somewhere in the place the humans call the 'Nevada desert'," Slipstream replied, "And why are we here? Well, I just wanted to talk to you personally before Tidal Wave took you to my father."

Breakaway frowned. Why would she want to do that? What interest did she have in him? He saw that glint in her optics, the one that made him uneasy…he realized why now. And he was in no position to fight her since he was missing both legs while his right arm lay on the ground near him.

"My father will break you, Breakaway," Slipstream said. She paused for a moment, laughing again. "He will turn you to our cause. However, there is one thing that I want to make sure of before he reduces you to a mindless wreck who is willing to accept anything he tells you."  
Breakaway slowly sat up. It required a fair effort, his energy levels already beginning to dwindle as he lost more and more precious energon fluid.

"Before you are converted, I want to make it absolutely clear to you what I intend to become of us," Slipstream said. Her voice had taken on a seductive tone, one that Breakaway found both surprising to hear and quite unnerving. He tried to shift away from her but having only one arm to do this made movement of any kind difficult. Slipstream leaned forwards, a hand going to his face. She felt along his metal features in a gentle, seductive manner.

"You and I, Breakaway," Slipstream said, her tone changing to one that sounded distinctly more ambitious than before. "I will claim the power that Unicron grants my father as my own. I will take my father's place and you, Breakaway, will be at my side."

She was planning to overthrow her own father! Breakaway could not believe what he was hearing. Somehow she had the idea that Breakaway would actually want to have a part in this scheme. It was then that Breakaway realized he might be able to shift this development to his advantage. If Slipstream was planning on killing her own father and taking Breakaway as her interface partner, well…That left the Autobot Seeker in the best position to ensure that no one gained any sort of God-like powers from this Unicron guy.

"I wanted to tell you this before my father tortured you," Slipstream said, "Tidal Wave knows of my plans and he has agreed to aid me. I wanted you to know, that way you would be able to at least have this idea at the back of your mind, one that would lead to your freedom from my father's ideals. He will convert you, Breakaway, but I will do my best to ensure that his power over you will not be great. I also have plans to rebuild you, give you a better body…"

Breakaway decided it was best to play along. He had worked undercover in the past and he could do it again, although he was not looking forward to whatever Centurion had in store for him. Slipstream's face was startlingly close to his own and her optics were gazing directly into his. It took him a moment to realize that she had wrapped an arm around him, one that presented a firm but strangely relaxed grip. His cooling fans went into overdrive and excess heat brought his frame to quite a hot temperature. Slipstream seemed to be undergoing the same changes.

"When I have the power, Breakaway, you will be at my side," Slipstream said, "You and I…we can rule this world together! However, it is important that you remain strong throughout the torture my father forces you through…It is also important that you remember my offer as it will be what makes the difference between the failure or success of my plans. I think the best way for you to remember it…"

She did not finish her sentence. Instead, her hot metal form was against Breakaway's. As much as the Autobot Seeker would have preferred otherwise, he could do little to stow his instincts. Once again, he hated himself for what he was doing but at the same time he did not care. Chromia did not love him anymore, so what use was it in resisting the advances of a crazy Decepticon? One that is daughter to Centurion?

"_The Breakaway I know may as well be dead."_

Even as the pair became entangled in one another, what Chromia had said to him echoed in his mind. Yes, he may as well be dead…But he would redeem himself. He was sure of it. He just needed to turn Slipstream's ambition against herself. This was certainly the last thing on his mind as he gave in to his instinctive urges, grabbing Slipstream and bringing her close.


	2. Merciless

_There's a man going around taking names  
__And he decides who to free and who to blame  
__Everybody won't be treated quite the same  
__There'll be a golden ladder reaching down  
__When the man comes around  
_-From the song "The Man Comes Around", by Johnny Cash

* * *

**Merciless  
**Tranquility, Nevada  
December 16th, 2010

It all had to be a dream. That was the only explanation: it was just one long, complicated and bleak dream, one where his worst fears had been realized. If it was a dream then it was certainly very vivid, portraying the events that occurred in such detail and realism that it would be understandable if someone found that the dream was in fact real. The events that had occurred, having started with an innocent arrival back home after a lengthy period of being away…From there things had gone downhill. It seemed that Sam Witwicky had been drawn into an escalating crisis within this dream, one that threatened his life and wellbeing. Was it not believed that if someone died in a dream then they died in real life? Or was that just mere speculation? Sam did not know. Instead, he simply remained still with his eyes squeezed shut, trying to will himself out of this terrible dream. The pain in his broken right arm was beyond comprehension…if it were a dream then he would have most certainly awoken by now. His eyes were watering and the tears were building under his eye lids, stinging his eyes and further convincing him that he was indeed in reality.

For as much as he would have preferred otherwise, he was not a victim of some sick and twisted and complicated dream. No, he was in fact the victim of a sick and twisted and complicated reality, one that had lately been quite cruel. Today, the sixteenth of December in the year 2010, a few notable bad things had occurred. It had begun when Sam had returned home with the intention of giving his parents a visit, only to find that they had gone on vacation. Bumblebee had shown up soon afterwards with urgent news. The Autobot had taken Sam to an old rail-yard on the edge of town where he had met the Autobots Smokescreen, Depthcharge and Deadeye. The fascinating thing about Deadeye was that he was in fact Optimus Prime's son. He did not share most of his father's mannerisms, appearing as a somewhat more reckless and hot-headed Autobot in comparison to the Prime.

Sam could not believe that he had agreed to get involved with the Autobots. Every time they took the time to visit him it was always because his help was needed in order to save the world from destruction. Sometimes he wished that they would leave him alone since it never seemed to occur to the Autobots that he had a normal life to live. He was not going to relegate his time to saving the world when the Autobots could probably manage it by themselves, especially since they had the help of the whole United States military.

The subsequent events had taken him further to the predicament he was in now. He had met the owner of Deadeye's vehicle form, a twenty-five year old African-American man by the name of Jones Marshall. He had then met a conspiracy nut African-American priest by the name of James Turner. And now all three of them were being held captive by the Decepticons as a result of a battle that had occurred outside of James' church.

Sam swallowed, trying to stop himself from crying. He did not want to appear as a complete and utter weakling but so much had happened today…and yet so much more was going to happen. He could vividly remember watching as Centurion had impaled Bumblebee on his sword. He had watched as Bumblebee had been effectively cut down the middle before being flung aside like he was nothing more than litter, Centurion having left the Autobot to die out in the street. Bumblebee had been against both Megatron and Starscream during a frenzied battle outside the church, determined to protect Sam, Jones and James as well as the important device that James had had in his possession. The device was the reason the Decepticons had even bothered to attack and so it was logical to try and stop them from getting it. Centurion had arrived towards the end of the battle and had had little trouble in killing Bumblebee. Upon seeing the death of one of his best and most closest friends Sam had broken down, only to be knocked unconscious by Megatron while Centurion had recovered the device.

Bumblebee was dead…it seemed unreal. He and Sam had gone through so much together, had survived so much…and now he was dead. Bumblebee was now nothing but a mutilated metal carcass left lying out on a street in the rain. Centurion had the device, Megatron had Sam at his mercy while Jones and James were being held at gunpoint by Starscream. And yet it seemed all impossible to fathom as what had happened, as if Sam knew that things were not supposed to be this way. Was it not true that the good guys were supposed to win and the bad guys to be thwarted and neutralized? The good guys had emerged victorious for most of the time up until…

The reason struck Sam then and there. Ever since Centurion's arrival things had gone downhill. Matters were not helped at all by the Decepticon's seeming imperviousness to bodily harm. That device, the one that James had had in his possession that Centurion now wore at his lower back seemed to power some kind of shield, one that closely enveloped the Decepticon and soaked up all the damage that was directed at him. Bullets, missiles, energy blasts…no weapon could harm him. It was understandable to assume that he was invincible, although Sam distinctly remembered there having been no such invincibility until Centurion had reacquired his device. It had to do with that device, he was sure of it. Without it, Centurion would become as vulnerable to damage as any other Decepticon. Even with this thought in mind Sam could not do anything about it. He was at the mercy of Megatron and for some reason he did not care too much. He was demoralised and the memories of Bumblebee's demise still weighed heavily upon his mind. He could still see his Autobot guardian dead and lifeless in the rain, the bright blue glow in Bumblebee's optics dying as the last semblance of life left him. He was dead and there was nothing that could be done about it. They had no Allspark, no Matrix of Leadership…And even so, Bumblebee's corpse was in quite a sorry state.

Where were the Autobots when you needed them? That battle outside the church could have been made far more even if either Smokescreen, Depthcharge or Deadeye had showed up. Instead, Bumblebee had been left to fend off the Decepticons himself. No wonder he was dead: the odds had been stacked against him and yet Bumblebee had fought with all of his strength and determination, only to be killed in one sudden blow from the blade of Centurion. Sam felt rage build inside him, an almost blinding rage directed towards the other Autobots. They could have been there to help Bumblebee, they could have helped in destroying Megatron or Starscream or even the seemingly invulnerable Centurion. Instead, they had been absent…and now Bumblebee was dead and Sam, Jones and James captured by Decepticons. Sam swallowed his anger and opened his eyes, his right arm flopped uselessly by his side.

One of Megatron's cold, metal pincer-like fingers had simply snapped the bone just after the elbow. Sam's right arm now flopped uselessly and rather painfully by his side. It was a compound fracture, the worst type someone could get: a jagged section of broken bone jutted out of the skin, blood oozing freely from the wound while Sam was quite certain he could see into the bone. It hurt like hell and it was another to get him screaming: not because of the pain but because of the sheer sight of seeing a bone of his sticking out of him in such a sickly fashion. He could not move the arm nor bend it without a stinging, throbbing and excruciating pain shooting up the arm and to his shoulder. He tried to flex the fingers of his right hand but such a trivial movement could not be achieved. Instead, he was forced to cradle the broken arm against him, using his left hand to stem the blood flow from where the jagged piece of bone stuck out from the flesh. Would he have to pop it back in? He did not want to think about this, especially when he was in such terrible, agonizing pain. Above, Megatron leered down at him, his large jagged metal form obscuring the light fixture above.

The warehouse they were in was large and reeked of abandonment: the air was musty and full of decades old dust. The ceiling was high and several of the light fixtures either flickered or did not work at all. Shelves of assorted junk such as boxes and rusty tools were near where Sam was lying. He lay upon an old wooden table, one of Megatron's large cold and metal hands pinning him in place. Some distance away stood Starscream who pointed an energy cannon at James and Jones. Both humans were tied to a chair each. Where James was struggling fruitlessly against the ropes that bound him, Jones was sweating and shaking from sheer terror.

Outside, the rain had stopped. The windows up close to the ceiling provided a view to a rather grey sky, one that threatened to resume pouring down rain at any moment. In some place distant lightning flashed and thunder rumbled. Sam's eyes flitted briefly towards Jones and James. James certainly looked determined but his struggles were futile. All Starscream had to do to dissuade the human from struggling further was to press the heat of his energy cannon into the human's back. A gun that size would leave little left of James and would probably kill Jones at the same time seeing as they were close together.

There had to be a way out of this. Sam looked around and looked down at himself, trying the pockets at his jeans with his left hand while above Megatron simply laughed in a disturbingly mocking manner. The Decepticon leader was enjoying Sam's pain, this much was obvious. He had always said he would get his vengeance on Sam for all the trouble the human had caused in the past. Maybe today was the day he would get his vengeance, although Sam would have preferred that Megatron never got his vengeance. It seemed that in order for Megatron to become satisfied that revenge had been achieved, Sam Witwicky would have to have died a painful and horrific death. Hence why now Sam began to frantically search for a way out. Unfortunately he was not carrying any sort of weapon nor was he carrying any sort of useful tools: all he had was his white shirt, jeans, sneakers and a blue jacket that was soaked with water and mud from the battle that had occurred outside of the church.

His wallet fell from one pocket, falling onto the table and opening. Inside was a driver's license that displayed a rather unflattering picture of him trying his best to manage a smile. Following the wallet from out of the pocket came a mobile phone, one of those that flipped open to reveal the keypad. Sam went to reach for his phone with his right arm but immediately retracted the arm in pain. He groaned and wiped away the tears that had involuntarily built in his eyes, using his left hand to grip the mobile phone. Above Megatron had become temporarily distracted, loosening his grip on Sam a little as he watched the items fall out of Sam's pocket.

Sam tucked the mobile phone aside, keeping it partially hidden from view as he flipped it open and began to frantically key in a text message. Who would he send it to? He needed to reach somebody, _anybody_ who could help. The first person that came to mind was Mikaela as she would possibly be able to notify NEST. If he sent her a message…No, he changed his mind about the message then and there. Instead, he dialled her number and left the phone on as Megatron began to speak, his voice laced with satisfaction and menace.

"It is good to hear you scream, boy," Megatron said, "You may think you are strong, but I will break you. And when I do, you will beg me for a quick death. Unfortunately, you will not receive one."

Mikaela had picked up the phone. Her voice was faint and it stopped as son as Megatron spoke. The Decepticon was yet to notice the phone clutched in Sam's left hand. Instead, Megatron was far too concentrated on the agonized grunts and involuntary shakes that Sam made as the reality of what was happen began to hit home. He was in dire circumstances and there seemed to be little or no way out.

"Sam!" This was James and he sounded his usual stern and determined self. "Sam, don't listen to this asshole! I'm working on a way out of this…"

"Silence, insect!" Starscream barked from behind. Half of his face had been blown away by Bumblebee during the battle earlier, leaving only one good red eye while the other was gone, taken up with jagged and torn metal as well as bright blue energon fluid that oozed out of the wound.

Megatron looked up and towards his subordinate, his metallic features creasing with slight annoyance. The working relationship between Megatron and Starscream was at best strained as neither of them trusted each other. Then again, neither of them trusted Centurion. In fact, it seemed all the Decepticons distrusted one another. They were always trying to usurp each other's positions of power, killing their way up the ranks.

Megatron's gaze went back down to Sam. His red optics narrowed when he saw what Sam was attempting to hide in his left hand. With little effort one of Megatron's pincer-like fingers wrapped around the human's left wrist and applied some pressure, more than enough to send a shot of pain up Sam's arm. Sam gasped and released his grip on the phone, letting it crash onto the floor. It remained intact as Megatron took it up in his right hand, peering closely at it, turning it over in his palm as his systems thoroughly checked over the device and determined its purpose. Mikaela's voice filtered through the speaker, sounding incredulous towards what was happening on the other end of the line.

"_Sam? Sam, are you there? Sam?" _Megatron closed his hand and crushed the phone, crunching the circuitry and plastic with ease. It had all the grace of someone casually stepping on an annoying bug. Sam had fallen silent save for his heavy breathing as he tried his best to contain his emotions and ignore the pain in his broken right arm. He was hoping, by God he was hoping that Mikaela had gotten the gist of what was happening and would send for help. It occurred to Sam that she did not know where he was. This thought only made him shake his head and grit his teeth in sheer annoyance. Damn, he was getting desperate.

"I recognize that voice," Megatron said as he reopened his right hand, letting the crushed pieces of the mobile phone sprinkle onto the floor like a fine dust, "She is also someone I would like to have a talk to, just like I am now doing with you, boy."

"You won't get her," Sam said through gritted teeth. The resistance he displayed was weak and a mere sign of desperation. Megatron noticed this and smiled a malevolent smile, bearing his set of jagged metal teeth. This action sent a shiver down Sam's spine.

"You are desperate," Megatron stated simply, "And you are at my mercy. I have many things planned for you, Sam Witwicky. Breaking every bone in your body is just the beginning. Soon you will start begging for a quick death…and your pleads will fall on deaf ears."

_You haven't got ears_, Sam thought absently. However, there was one thing that Megatron was right about: Sam was desperate. He had never been in a situation as bad as this before and for the first time he genuinely felt that he might not escape. There was no rescue party on their way and even if somehow Mikaela got word through to the Autobots and NEST…Well, by the time they found him Sam had a feeling that he would be in a very sorry state. In fact, he was quite certain that he would be dead by the time any sort of help arrived. The same went for both James and Jones, even if the two of them were not directly involved. They were just two guys who had been in the wrong place at the wrong time.

"Let them go," Sam said. The last thing he needed was the deaths of both James and Jones on his conscience. They were not who Megatron wanted, thus they deserved to be free. Holding them captive here was not achieving anything.

Megatron seemed to raise an eyebrow when he heard Sam's simple demands. He thought for a moment over what had been said whilst still using his left hand to pin Sam to the table. His gaze went to James and Jones and then back down to Sam. The gaze he provided was one of mere amusement.

"Those two friends of yours are here to be questioned by Centurion," Megatron said, "He believes that both have some important information to share. You, on the other hand, are for my use only. Thus, you cannot bargain with me, even if you believe both your friends here do not deserve to be held captive. Releasing them would displease Centurion and…" Megatron trailed off. He seemed to be dwelling on a matter that required some intense thought. There was something in the Decepticon's face, something that told Sam that Megatron was marginally fearful of Centurion's power. Megatron scared? Sam had never thought he would see this spectacle, even if it was not much to behold.

"And my overall schemes has a higher chance of success if I do not displease Centurion," Megatron finished.

There was a brief silence, broken by the sound of thunder from outside. Rain began to fall again, first at a slow and steady rate. It pattered upon the iron roof of the warehouse, becoming more and more like the sound of white noise as the speed of the rain increased. Sam could tell that Megatron was thinking of betraying Centurion, this much was obvious in what he had just said. Whatever scheme Megatron was running it was probably a typical Decepticon backstabbing operation.

"Scheme? What scheme?" Sam asked. He rested his broken arm on the table by his side, trying to get it straight so it hurt less. His eyes watered from the pain it was giving him and he involuntarily cried out as he moved it. He would have done anything for some pain relief, preferably something strong like morphine…unfortunately such relief was not going to come.

"Do not believe for a second that I am willingly working for Centurion," Megatron said, sounding as if his pride had been hurt, "No, I am merely working with him to further my own goals. He is after something on this planet, something very powerful…"

"You guys are always doing that," Sam commented, "Searching for powerful stuff."

Megatron tightened his grip on Sam, briefly winding the human. Sam gasped and Megatron released him, allowing Sam to cough and gasp for air in his winded state.

"Silence, Sam Witwicky," Megatron said, "I tire of your questions. What I would really like to do now is resume my work on breaking your bones. You humans are quite fragile, as I am sure you are aware of. The slightest fall and you might simply break, in much the same manner as someone stepping upon a twig and snapping it. And I intend on snapping you, Sam Witwicky."

This was it, Sam knew it. He tensed and prepared for whatever pain Megatron was about to dish out. Sam's mind was still searching for a way out even when the logical part of his brain was telling him that there was no escape. There was going to be no rescue, no relief from the pain: Sam was going to die an agonizing death at the hands of Megatron. Instead of resistance, instead of fear all Sam felt was resignation. Bumblebee was dead and his Autobot guardian's demise still played over in his mind. If there was an afterlife he might be able to see his Autobot friend there, that is if robots were accepted into the afterlife. He could not be sure if they were but he also could not be sure if there was actually an afterlife to begin with. He figured he would find out soon enough.

Nearby, Jones and James watched as Megatron took up Sam's left unbroken arm in his grip. Jones shut his eyes while James kept his head down, keeping a straight face as he prepared to hear the inevitable _crack!_ of broken bones. However, their preparation was unnecessary since the sound of breaking bones did not occur, nor was there the sound of Sam Witwicky screaming in pain. Instead, a large and recognizable figure stepped into the warehouse with a familiar object clutched in his right hand.

Centurion was slightly taller than Megatron and built much the same way, albeit with a more refined and less jagged form. On his back were carvings of ancient Cybertronian symbols while the device he had sought was held in place at his lower back. The shield that enveloped his form shimmered occasionally, casting a blue-white haze over his form every now and then. His red optics contained a ferociously burning insanity, one that made it obvious that Centurion was beyond saving. To put it simply, he was crazy. He had gone crazy from all that time in the void between dimensions, having only the Fallen and Unicron as company. And one's company could also affect the one in question so some of the qualities of these two individuals had rubbed off on Centurion. He had all the cunning of the Fallen and all the malevolence of the planet-devouring Unicron. He saw Unicron as a God and was willing to go to any lengths to bring his God out of the void. This was about all Sam knew of his plan from what he had heard, otherwise he was as much in the dark as the others were. Centurion was here on Earth and why he was here was mostly unclear. How would he bring Unicron out of the void? For starters, just who was Unicron?

Sam's eyes widened when he saw the object that Centurion clutched in his right hand. Megatron seemed to react in much the same way, taking his hands off of Sam and glaring straight at the insane Decepticon who had just entered.

"Behold, the Matrix of Leadership!" Centurion exclaimed, smiling malevolently, "Prometheus returned with this from a successful mission and now the powers of the Matrix of Leadership can aid our cause!"

James and Jones were watching Centurion was bemusement. Neither of them had any idea as to what the Matrix of Leadership was and what it did. Sam saw it and knew immediately that he must get it…somehow. He was not in much of a position to get up and snatch it from Centurion's grip, an action that would be hard to carry out since Centurion was significantly taller than him.

"The Matrix?" Megatron asked, almost incredulous to this development. There was no denying it though: What Centurion held was indeed the helix-shaped Matrix of Leadership, etched with intricate Cybertronian designs and warm to the tough from a power contained within.

Sam had to get it. Having such a powerful artefact in the hands of a bunch of evil Decepticons would be bad for humanity and the Autobots. How he would get hold of it was unknown to him. In fact, the goal seemed unreachable almost…It was within sight but out of reach in quite the literal sense.

"With this we can raise every unborn Decepticon on board the _Nemesis_," Centurion said. Sam frowned when he heard this, having no clue as to what the "Nemesis" was. However, the way Centurion spoke of there being Decepticons "on board" this "Nemesis" made him think that Centurion was referring to a ship, possibly the one that the Decepticons had been using as an off-world base of operations. It seemed logical, especially since the Decepticons often got discovered whenever they tried hiding out on Earth. If Earth was a dangerous place for them then hiding off-world seemed the next-best thing to do.

Megatron's incredulity faded and he stepped forward, looking rather satisfied. Sam decided to make the most of this distraction and so swung his legs off of the table, only for Megatron to turn around and place a firm cold metal hand on him, pinning him in place. An overwhelming sense of helplessness wracked Sam then and there as he realized just how hopeless his situation was. Here he was, at the mercy of Megatron with absolutely no hope of escape. What the hell could he do? He was not about to simply sit by and wait for Megatron to resume torturing him, even though this seemed to be the only thing that Sam was actually able to do.

"Give it to me," Megatron said, holding out his free hand. Centurion heard this and simply shook his head, laughing as he did so. Sam saw the annoyance in Megatron's face and the rage the Decepticon leader struggled to contain. If Centurion was not seemingly invulnerable then chances are Megatron would have already started attacking him.

"Give it to you?" Centurion asked, his tone mocking and condescending. "I am no fool, Megatron. I would never give the Matrix to you as you would most likely turn its powers against me."

Powers…that was it! Sam could bring back Bumblebee with the Matrix. It had worked on Optimus Prime so why would it not work on Bumblebee? Bumblebee was smaller and would take less energy to resurrect…and yet this sudden flower of hope was crushed when Sam once again realized his predicament. He could not get hold of the Matrix even if he somehow escaped from Megatron's grasp. If he did that then Centurion would most likely blow him away.

Megatron slowly retracted his outstretched hand, eyeing the Matrix with obvious longing and containing his anger. Whatever alliance he had with Centurion it was noticeably strained, probably being the sort of alliance that could break at a moment's notice.

Centurion lowered the hand wielding the Matrix, tightening his grip on it as if for added security. His gaze went to Sam and then to Starscream, flitting over Jones and James before returning to Megatron. Centurion seemed amused as he often did when faced with Megatron, as if he found the Decepticon leader a joke. From what Sam had heard from the other Autobots it did seem that Centurion thought little of Megatron, hence why the two of them did not seem to be getting along very well.

"Why are you wasting your time with that human, Megatron?" Centurion asked, "He contains no valuable information…"

"He is one of the few who are directly responsible for preventing the success of my past schemes," Megatron replied, his tone even. There was something underneath it though, something that was undoubtedly controlled anger.

"And you are wasting your time with him," Centurion said rather bluntly.

"Why does it matter to you?" Megatron asked, his voice taking on a more defensive sounding tone. Sam simply remained still and listened to the growing animosity between the two. However hopeless his situation was it certainly seemed a welcome relief to actually find out that Megatron was not as implacable as he made himself out to be. Centurion could get under his skin (or metal, to be more precise) by the sound of it.

"Move out of the way, Megatron," Centurion said abruptly. His left arm changed into an energy cannon form and he pointed the large glowing blue barrel straight at Megatron.

Within seconds both Starscream and Megatron had raised their cannons and pointed them at Centurion. However, there was noticeable unease as they did this: they both knew that conventional weapons did next to no damage to Centurion, thus if shooting did start they would most likely get killed while Centurion remained unharmed.

Sam was hoping they would all start shooting and kill one another. Sure, it was a fairly desperate hope but any hope was better than no hope. Once again Megatron had released Sam from his grip, allowing the human to sit up and cradle his broken arm while he watched the standoff.

"Why?" Megatron asked.

"So I can kill the human boy," Centurion replied. He waved his gun, indicating that Megatron should step aside if he knew what was good for him.

Sam felt his heart skip a beat when he heard what Centurion said. He remained sitting on the table, looking towards Centurion whilst cradling his broken arm. Running would simply give Centurion an excuse to shoot him, yet sitting still may very well be inviting the same fate. Nearby, James had once again started struggling against the ropes that bound him. It was strange to see a priest in typical priest attire (black clothing and white collar) tied up and swearing loudly as he tried to free himself.

"The boy is mine!" Megatron exclaimed. Sam was only marginally put at ease by this statement, the whole idea of being "owned" by a Decepticon unnerving him slightly.

"Step aside!" Centurion demanded, "Or I will kill you as well, Megatron."

"Try to," Megatron replied, although whatever determination was in his voice was broken by the uncertainty he was feeling. Centurion could not be harmed…everyone in this warehouse knew that.

Centurion did not shoot. Instead, he gave the robotic equivalent of a sigh and stepped forwards, pushing Megatron aside with ease. His personal shield partially burned where he touched Megatron, leaving the Decepticon leader to try and ease the pain as Centurion pointed the barrel of his arm cannon straight into Sam's face.

"Why do you waste your time with this human vermin?" Centurion asked, "I only wish for those two to stay alive, not this one."

"You promised me I could keep this one," Megatron said, turning around to face Centurion. He was annoyed by the shove Centurion had given him yet was unwilling to do anything in retaliation. It just was not worth the risk.

"Promised?" Centurion laughed. "I would never promise you anything, Megatron. You are nothing but an incompetent fool."

Sam looked up and found himself staring into the glowing blue-white gun barrel that Centurion's left arm cannon consisted of. Sam's eyes were wide yet he resigned to this fate, his morale at an all time low. At least it was better than getting tortured to death by Megatron. His situation was hopeless after all and whatever faint rays of hope that were left had since faded, leaving nothing but…well, it was hopelessness alright. Sam would die, Jones and James would die…Bumblebee was dead and the rest of the Autobots would soon follow. The bad guys would win and…

_What am I thinking this for? I'm better than this! If Bumblebee were in my position he wouldn't give up! He didn't give up back at the church…_ Sam felt a faint trace of courage seep into him, as if he had drawn it from the air around him. Despite the fact he had a large alien-built cannon pointed in his face he was certain that he would escape. Already a scheme was forming in his mind, a very loose one at that. Megatron and Centurion hated each other so maybe he could use this flaw against them? It was a valid plan alright; he just did not know how he would carry it out.

"Hey, Megatron, you gonna let this guy push you around?" Sam asked, glancing over at the annoyed looking Decepticon leader. Megatron seemed surprised to hear Sam speaking directly to him in such a casual sounding manner. Even Sam was surprised by the sheer ease at which he delivered the question despite the situation he was in.

"Sam, what the hell are you doing?" James asked, sounding annoyed, "I'm working on getting us out of here!"

Sam ignored the priest and kept his gaze trained on Megatron. He could see that the Decepticon wanted to lash out at Centurion, he just needed appropriate encouragement to do it.

"This Centurion guy…he's nothing. Can't you see he's crazy? You, on the other hand, are actually sane…" Sam trailed off. Was Megatron sane? It was hard to tell, especially with an alien robot.

"Sam, damn it!" James shouted, "I'm almost there! I'm working on getting us out!" He struggled against the ropes again while Starscream stood behind him, busy watching what was happening between Centurion and Megatron. Starscream did not take notice of James as he struggled against the ropes.

"Human, if you are trying to get Megatron to attack me you are making an unwise decision," Centurion commented, his voice its usual casual malevolence, "I can kill him easily…"

"No…" Megatron blurted this out impulsively. Sam watched with surprise as Megatron lunged for Centurion, the pair of robots tumbling over one another and smashing their way through shelving units and old wooden tables and machinery.

Satisfied that his coaxing had worked, Sam Witwicky rose to his feet. He kept his broken right arm tucked to his side, clenching his jaw against the pain that throbbed through it. Nearby, a familiar voice sounded out while Centurion and Megatron brawled on the floor.

"Don't move, insect!" Starscream shouted. His right arm cannon had been raised and he was pointing it directly at Sam. The human stopped and turned, gazing at the Decepticon and the weapon that was pointed at him. Once again, that feeling of resignation overcame Sam and he remained still. Megatron and Centurion rolled and crashed and grunted as they tried to punch each other up, crushing machinery and shelves as they went.

Whatever faint glimmer of hope Sam had seen, it now appeared that it had all but gone…again. Today was turning out to be a very bad day.


	3. Sector Eight

**Sector Eight  
**Tranquility, Nevada  
December 16th, 2010

"Pull over here."

Colonel Francis Weller tucked his Magnum .44 revolver back into the holster he wore at his waist. He chewed lightly on a stubby cigar that stuck out from one corner of his mouth, the result of having been puffing on it for a few hours. He was seated in the backseat of a black SUV, one that belonged to the organization he ran: Sector Eight. Where Sector Seven had been a government organization, one that was top secret and legitimate, Sector Eight was quite the opposite: it was a splinter faction, one that had broken away from Sector Seven when that organization had been disbanded back in 2007. For the last three to four years, Sector Eight had been operating in secret from the governments of the world, its existence known only to the few benefactors within the United States government. One such benefactor had been Theodore Galloway, not to mention his associates. Weller frowned when he remembered Galloway, thinking it rather amusing that Galloway had been a Decepticon Pretender. At least, he had been the last time Weller had seen him. This had been moments before the Colonel had blasted the Decepticon away with a prototype weapon.

Sector Eight did not officially "exist", thus people who did not exist could do as they wanted. As such, Weller and his troops could do as they pleased when they pleased with little fear of backlash. This had become handy quite recently, especially when Weller had lead a team into the Hofburg Palace in Vienna, Austria to retrieve the Spear of Destiny. Now that Spear, which was more like a spearhead than a full length spear, was stored in a lead lined container that sat on the passenger seat of the SUV. On the floor in front of the seat sat the rather complicated workings of the bulky tracking device that Weller had built himself using knowledge that had been accidentally downloaded into his brain because of an Allspark shard. Currently it had homed in on a few unique energy signatures, one being this "Centurion" Decepticon that Weller had been hearing about recently and the other being the Matrix of Leadership that had been stolen from a military installation in the Arizona desert only hours ago.

Captain Xander Farnell, the thirty-something Sector Eight commando who Weller saw as very competent, sat in the driver's seat. He took the SUV to a halt on a street corner, right outside what looked to be some sort of diner. The street they were in was part of the eastern outskirts of Tranquility, Nevada. Tranquility was one of the least interesting towns in the United States and was smack-bang in the Nevada desert, about ninety kilometres north-west of Las Vegas. The town itself was surrounded by mostly barren and rocky desert, the sort of desert most people would associate with cactuses and mesas. The street where Weller and Farnell had arrived had very few pedestrians and little traffic. Rather, there were numerous warehouses and industrial outlets that took up this particular neighbourhood. The diner was perhaps the only interesting thing on this street, sitting on a corner bearing a rather dirtied grey and red paint-job. There were mostly workers inside, having popped into the diner during their breaks from the nearby factories and refineries.

"Uh…If you don't mind me asking, why are we stopping here?" Farnell asked. He sounded uncertain and Weller merely smiled at this.

"We're getting something to eat," Weller said, "Not only that, we need to talk about a few things."

"Like what happened to Professor Vine?" Farnell asked.

Weller eyed the cracked back window, taking note of the blood-stains splattered across it. Set into one part of the window, in the centre of the hairline cracks that had spread across it was a single bullet hole. It was the type that would have been caused by a fairly high calibre round, perhaps a .44 or .50…

The Colonel shrugged. It had been an accident: the last thing he had needed to do was to shoot Professor Kyle Vine through the head. Hell, it had been Farnell's fault: he had been driving at the time and had driven over a speed-hump, thus making Weller's finger slip on the trigger of his Magnum revolver while he spun it around in his hand. As a result Professor Vine had had his brains splattered all over the back window and some of the blood had sprayed onto Weller's uniform. He noticed this particular fact for the first time, realizing that with all the blood on his vest he would look mightily suspicious.

"Yes, we have to talk about that," Weller said, "As well, we have to talk about how we're going to approach the task we're faced with. So far, I have reason to believe that we're going to run into trouble."

Farnell nodded, his gaze shifting to the street through his side's window.

"Besides, I'm hungry," Weller added. He removed the stub of the cigar from his mouth, chucking it onto the floor of the SUV before he used one hand to pen his side's door. He stepped out into the pouring rain and cold air. It was an unfamiliar sensation since he had spent most of recent years working in New Mexico and that was only one state's border away and yet was almost always hot and dry. It seemed that this part of Nevada was going through a cold spell…at least, it was for today.

Weller closed the door shut behind him. He stepped over to the passenger side's door and pulled it open, taking up the tracking device. The GPS connected to it had pinpointed both unique energy signatures, however he intended on doing a little more than simply revealing the location of two important things. He just needed to change a few settings and he would find it easier to accomplish this on a table somewhere and not in a moving vehicle.

With the tracking device gripped in his right hand he closed the passenger side's door. He turned to face the diner's entrance in order to start walking when his eyes caught that of an elderly man seated on a table outside the front of the restaurant. The elderly man saw Weller and managed an odd grimace, as if he just noticed the blood stains on the Colonel's vest and the gun he had in a holster at his waist.

"Hey buddy!" Weller waved at the old man, smiling as he did so. The old man simply shook his head and returned to the newspaper he had been reading.

Farnell climbed out of the SUV and locked the vehicle behind him. With only slight trepidation he started walking to the diner's entrance. Weller walked alongside, feeling as confident as ever. He liked small establishments such as this since they were always far more friendly and comfortable than some big-name franchise, like KFC or Burger King.

Weller pushed open the glass doors and stepped into the modest diner. It was currently populated by a few young female waitresses in skimpy yellow skirts, reminiscent of some 1950s restaurant while several refinery workers, still in their uniforms and some even in hard-hats sat scattered at the booths and tables. There were still plenty of vacant tables and Weller started for one by the window but located at the far end of the diner.

Naturally he and Farnell received odd looks from everybody else. Farnell looked suitably nervous but Weller was quite confident and simply strode past those who were looking at him funny. In the background a radio played some 1980s song, one Weller knew quite well: "_Everybody wants to rule the world…"_

"Good afternoon, gorgeous," Weller said as he passed one of the waitresses. She did not seem to notice what he said and instead had her eyes set on the blood stains splattered across one half of the Colonel's vest.

"Oh, this…" Weller stopped and gestured to the stains. Most people in the diner had by now returned to their own business, the novelty of a couple of blood-stained new arrivals having worn off.

"I was out hunting with my friend Xander here," Weller said, his tone friendly and matter-of-fact as he nodded towards the Captain. The waitress's eyes went up to the Colonel's in an obvious move to work him out. Weller kept a straight face, having the uncanny ability to shield what he was feeling from any outside observers. His line of work often called for such an asset.

"I caught a buffalo right in the throat with my Magnum," Weller continued, "Blood sprayed all over the place! It was like a fountain…" He made suitable gestures with his hands, accompanying them with a _pwssshhh!_ sound. "Still, it's a worthy trophy and I intend to hang it up above my mantelpiece when I get home. Until then, I and my buddy Xander have decided to stop off for something to eat. What do you have on the menu here?"

Xander Farnell had by now sat down on the nearby table by the window. Weller handed the Captain the tracking device which was then set down onto the table surface, Xander taking a moment to mull over the complicated device while Weller continued to pay attention to the waitress.

The waitress, in response to Weller's question, thrust a copy of the menu into the Colonel's hands.

"Thanks, gorgeous," Weller replied, taking a seat across from Farnell. He set the menu in front of him, skim-read through most of it within a few seconds and made his order. It amazed him how fast he could read now after the incident with the Allspark shard. If he wanted to he could read a concise dictionary within a day, not that a dictionary was really something he would bother reading…

The menu consisted of standard diner fare, with burgers and steaks and so forth. Weller made his decision of what to eat within a split second, taking note of the fact that the waitress was looking at the tracking device. It beeped loudly and Farnell, who had been fiddling with a dial, pulled his fiddling hand back in surprise.

"Don't touch that," Weller said. He looked up, getting the attention of the waitress. "Now, gorgeous, I want the biggest, juiciest steak you have and I want it well done. I also want a side of fries and salad to go with it. For a drink I'd like some ginger ale, the best you got." He paused, waiting fort the waitress to write all this down on her notepad. Once she was finished Weller looked towards Farnell.

"Say, Xander, what do you want?" He asked the Captain.

Farnell looked up, taken off-guard by the question. He took the menu from Weller, skimmed through it rather slowly and took another half a minute to make a decision. The waitress waited patiently for Farnell to come to a conclusion.

"Uh…I'd like a burger. Just…a burger, one with onions and lettuce and tomato and…yeah. That it's. That's what I want." Farnell sounded unsure of his order but it occurred to Weller then that Farnell always sounded like this, always pausing and stuttering and being generally unsure of himself.

"Any drinks?" The waitress asked.

"Uh…yeah. I'll have…a coke. Just a coke."

The waitress wrote all of this down and turned around before walking away. Once she was gone, Farnell shot an anxious gaze at the easy-going Colonel. The Colonel found Farnell's reaction quite amusing and simply smiled.

"What the hell are we doing in here, Colonel?" Farnell asked, his voice low so no one else in the diner would hear save for himself and Weller, "Doesn't the idea of walking into a diner in full uniform, wearing guns and covered with blood strike you as a bit…stupid?"

"Nonsense, Captain," Weller replied. He found Captain Farnell's anxiety unfounded. What were a bunch of civilians in a diner going to do? Besides, Weller was hungry and he hadn't eaten since breakfast and that had been hours ago.

There was a pause between the two, backgrounded by the radio that was playing down the diner somewhere and by the conversations taking place around them. Weller's gaze shifted to outside as a few cars sped by. He caught a glimpse of the one in front, a red four door sports car that seemed out of place in a town like this. There was a sudden dull ache in his head, the sort that he had only begun to feel after the incident with the All-spark shard. Immediately he knew…he just _knew_ that the red sports car was not really a car.

He turned his gaze back to the Captain and dragged the tracking device across the table towards him. Farnell watched with some curiosity as Weller reached into a pocket in his vest and removed a pocket screwdriver. Weller confidently unscrewed one panel in the side of the cobbled-together device, revealing a mass of wires and circuitry.

"What are you doing, sir?" Farnell asked.

Weller almost did not hear the question since he was heavily concentrating on what he was doing to the tracking device. The question took a moment or two to register in his mind before he looked up and towards Farnell, frowning as he did.

"I'm making a few adjustments," Weller said.

"What kind of adjustments?"

Again, there was a pause, this time because the Colonel had to give this a moment's thought. What had he been doing again? Damn, Farnell's questioning had made him forget what he was supposed to have been doing. Or did he know still? He was so confused for some reason, as if there was something else on his mind…So many other things, in fact and most of it had not been in his mind a few days before.

Well, he certainly would not be surprised if this was the case. Colonel Weller had never felt the same since what had happened with the Allspark shard: since then he had been suffering from visions, headaches and other odd occurrences such as accidentally bringing a laptop computer to life into a wild Decepticon. For some reason he had no trouble wrapping his mind around sciences that would have made Einstein's eyes water and yet at the same time Weller did not know it. The understanding he had of the universe…it made no sense to him and yet at the same time it did. Alien symbols continued to flash through his mind and he began to see them everywhere…on the wall, the floor, the ceiling, the table and even on the other people in the diner. They all meant something and yet he did not know what…and at the same time part of his mind did know, this being the part that was not human but Cybertronian. This Cybertronian part of his mind had not been there until what had happened with the Allspark shard. This new part of his mind, it whispered to him and sometimes even blatantly spoke to him. It told him what he had to do, who would have to be involved and what would happen as a result. This voice, it spoke with such great authority…such sternness…it was almost like it was God speaking to him. Such a thought was preposterous but Weller had been a firm believer in God (he saw himself as a decent God-fearing citizen) and to think that there was a higher power in contact with him…It struck both amazement and fear into him at the same time. Even if it was not God who was speaking to him, Weller would still abide by what the voice told him to do regardless of what this might entail. It was too powerful to be ignored and there was the thought that maybe ignoring it would prove fatal. However, there was also the thought that maybe he was being manipulated, being used a mere pawn in some much bigger game that he had only seen a small section of, a game that had high stakes and many players. He was uncertain as to whether this latter possibility was true, especially since the voice had told him that it was not true and that Weller had a very important purpose.

"What kind of adjustments?" Weller repeated, remembering Farnell's question. The Captain nodded in response and Weller suddenly remembered the details as to what these adjustments he was making consisted of.

"I have reason to believe that we'll run into trouble when we go after the Matrix of Leadership and that Decepticon…"

"What Decepticon?" Farnell asked, raising an eyebrow.

Of course! Weller was the only one in Sector Eight who knew about Centurion's existence. This made sense, seeing as it had been the vice in his head that had told him about this particular Decepticon: Centurion, a powerful rival of Megatron who had gone missing about seventy Earth years ago only to turn up in Holland last week. Centurion was part of this as the voice assured him and that Weller would have to do something…perhaps even strike a deal with Centurion in order to advance his own schemes further?

"Oh…Some Decepticon called 'Centurion'. He's quite a major player in all of this." Weller resumed making his adjustments, giving Farnell a chance to digest what he had just said before continuing.

"The adjustments I'm making," Weller went on, "Will allow us to home in on the life reading of any Cybertronian we want. With this we'll have a significant advantage since we'll be able to know where any one of those bastards are at any given time. As a result we can eradicate them easier, but before that I have to see this Centurion guy, if only to determine what he has to do with the ruins that were found in Venezuela."

Weller remembered the events of recent days, including the discovery of what was obviously a small section of a massive network of alien ruins buried under part of Venezuela. They had been found in a quarry outside the city of Maracaibo and so Sector Eight had moved in to secure the area, sealing off prying public eyes from the secrets contained within. The ruins were sealed by some great big alien door, one that required a "key" to open it: the Spear of Destiny was the key and unfortunately the Spear could be operated only by a Cybertronian life form, one that was able to provide a certain type of energy to the Spear. Centurion was apparently a source of this energy from what the voice in the Colonel's head had said, at least the device that Centurion used to give himself special abilities was a source of this energy. So, the plan would consist of getting this device, using it to power the Spear and thus going on to use it to open the ruins in Venezuela. What was contained within these ruins, nobody knew. The voice in Weller's mind seemed to know but it did not wish to divulge the information as yet, instead reassuring Weller that he would find out in due time.

"The ruins in Venezuela?" Farnell asked, frowning, "I thought we had forgotten about those…"

"Only because we had been caught up with other affairs," Weller replied, "Otherwise it's been those ruins that have been at the centre of it all. Everything that's been happening in recent days…it's all been because of those ruins. And chances are we're the only people who know of their existence. Funny how that stuff works, ain't it?"

Weller turned his attention back to the work he was doing on the device, using the pocket screwdriver to alter a few circuit-boards and alter a few of the Cybertronian power cells within. Sector Eight had a healthy supply of these "power cells", their scientists having successfully created a sort of hybrid power cell that was a cross between human and Cybertronian technology. Such high-tech devices had taken years to make but fortunately for them, Sector Eight had access to over eighty years of research and development.

"Listen here, Farnell: We have to do a few things first before we can get into those ruins," Weller continued, finishing up with making adjustments to the tracking device. He closed the panel and screwed it shut with the screwdriver before swivelling the device around so that the GPS screen was facing him.

"The Spear of Destiny, it's the key," Weller said, "Unfortunately, it's a key that can be operated only by a certain kind of energy. Now, if my sources are correct then this energy can only be found in one…No, make that _two_ devices." He pressed a few of the buttons on the touch-screen of the augmented GPS, swivelling it around so that Farnell could get a good look at it. Weller tapped the two pulsating icons that had appeared amongst the lines and blocks that represented roads and buildings further north in town.

"One of those is a device in possession of Centurion," Weller continued, "The other, if I assume correctly, is the Matrix of Leadership. Either will do us fine so we get whatever one is easiest. I'm guessing that getting hold of the Matrix of Leadership will be distinctly easier then getting hold of some device our buddy Centurion has in his possession."

Farnell simply nodded along with what Weller was saying, although the bemused look in his eyes revealed that he was either unsure abut the plan or unable to believe what he was hearing. It was absurd and yet Colonel Weller kept talking, as if it was fact.

"However, I'm afraid that even getting the Matrix of Leadership will be difficult," Weller said. He flicked a switch and the display altered slightly, displaying several more pulsating blips, some of which were moving. Three of them were on their way towards a cluster of about five of them, speeding along one of the roads represented as a thick black line.

"The blue ones are Autobots, the red ones are Decepticons," Weller said. He could not quite work out how he had been able to make the tracking device work this way as his adjustment making had come naturally, almost instinctually. He had not needed to genuinely think about how to get it to work and had simply needed to go ahead and do it autonomously.

"Three Autobots, four Decepticons," Weller said, "Chances are we got the big names: Megatron, Starscream, Centurion…Hell, maybe even Optimus Prime."

"But…how are we supposed to get the Matrix if there's going to be _that_ much opposition in the way?" Farnell asked, raising his eyebrows incredulously. Weller could understand this reaction since, truth be told, they were kind of understaffed at the moment and they did not have the time to gather a massive force to carry out a full attack. There were plenty of Sector Eight commandoes and resources on their way…trouble is, they might arrive a little too late for Weller's liking.

"To be honest with you, I'm not too sure about that," Weller replied, "My guess is once those Autobots and Decepticons encounter each other they'll be too busy kicking the shit from one another to pay much attention to us. That's why I'm thinking we wait until they're busy blasting at each other before we slip in, take what we need and get out. By the time any of them realize what's happening we'll be headed to South America with the Spear and it's power source in tow. And by then it'll be too late."

The waitress from earlier arrived with Weller's order: a big, thick and well done steak with a side of fries and salad. She set the large plate in front of the Colonel before setting down the two men's drinks: Weller got his ginger ale and Farnell got his coke.

"Thanks, gorgeous," Weller said. The waitress left and returned a short time later with Farnell's order: a large burger set in the middle of an appropriately sized plate. Once the waitress was gone Weller continued to talk.

"Remember, Xander, we're just the spearhead of a much larger operation: there's a whole lot of reliable commandoes due to arrive within the hour as well as several LM units…"

"LM units?"

"Light Machine Units, they're called," Weller replied, remembering what little he had read of the project. The LM Project had been something that Professor Vine had been working on and it was a fairly big project, having begun a few years back as a Sector Seven operation. "They're like Cybertronians but built by _us_. They follow our orders as well, since that's probably the most important thing required of them. They don't actually change shape, though: our technology isn't quite advanced enough yet for them to be able to do that."

Weller took up his knife and fork and cut a sizeable portion of his steak away, using the fork to place it into his mouth. He was always one to enjoy a big, thick and juice steal. He preferred them well done, since he believed that anyone who had their steaks done any less than well done was a pussy. A well done steak put hairs on a man's chest…well, that's what he thought anyway. Other people might disagree but as Weller would say, _to hell with everybody else!_

Farnell had started eating his burger, biting carefully and slowly into it as he thoroughly chewed on every piece that went into his mouth. It was as if he was expecting to find something nasty concealed in his burger. Maybe he did not trust the cooks here at the diner? Or maybe he was just more used to KFC or McDonalds?

"However, the thing that I'm worried about is that by the time our support arrives, what we're after will be long gone," Weller said after he had chewed and swallowed a few pieces of his steak. "That's why you and I will be heading…well, we'll be heading 'into the breach' as some might say. In other words, we'll get the party started before our support arrives."

Farnell raised an eyebrow. He sudden looked anxious again, as if he could not quite believe what he was hearing. Weller did not find any problem at all with what had been planned, mostly because it was _his_ plan and so he believed that it would succeed entirely. He had planned it after all, why wouldn't it work?

"Just us? Facing against what…six Cybertronians?" Farnell asked. "How come I see a problem with that?"

"Oh, Xander, you make me laugh sometimes, you really do," Weller said, chuckling at Farnell's reaction, "As I said, those Autobots and Decepticons are set to bump into each other. I mean…those three on the GPS now are heading straight for where Centurion and his buddies are. That means that if we want to seize the opportunity the confusion of the battle will present us, we should leave in the next fifteen minutes or so. So eat up, Captain. Time is of the essence."

Indeed, time was of the essence. If Weller judged correctly then the three Autobots on their way to meet the Decepticons would be there in about fifteen minutes. If he and Farnell left within the next fifteen minutes then they may very well arrive in the middle of a raging battle. Chances are those Autobots and Decepticons would trash half the neighbourhood so such a battle would not be difficult to miss. Still, it was not entirely urgent…There was a chance that nothing would happen and thus Weller and Farnell could wait for their support personnel to arrive, LM Units and all.

"I understand your anxiety, Xander," Weller said, smiling in a rather reassuring manner, "But I'm sure things will go according to plan."

"What if we don't get the Matrix?" Farnell asked. "What then?"

Weller shrugged. He had not really thought about this, especially since he had been fairly certain that his rather loose plan would succeed. And yet, it always paid to plan for a few of the possible stuff-ups that might occur.

"We'll have to find some other means of powering the Spear of Destiny," Weller said, "I'm sure that if we don't get the Matrix then those Decepticons are going to take it to whatever off-world base they have and use it to raise an army…" He trailed off. How the hell did he know this? Again, it was the voice, slipping information into his mind at a subconscious level. He knew all of these things and yet he had no idea how he had actually found out about them. The voice, it had to be the voice: it was guiding him and teaching him at the same time. Maybe it was God who was speaking to him? If it was he certainly did not want to stuff up. The last thing he needed right now was to have God get angry at him.

"Things are fairly even, though," Weller said, "We have the Spear, which I'm sure the Decepticons want. They have the Matrix, which we want. All it's going to take is for one side to gain the advantage and tip the balance. The funny thing is, those Decepticons don't even know of our existence."

"Neither does NEST," Farnell commented.

Weller had almost forgotten abut NEST. Then again, he never really thought about Sector Eight's only liable threat. Why would he? NEST had been kept in the dark abut Sector Eight's existence ever since they had been first formed. The only real slip-up had been at the Hofburg Palace in Vienna where some NEST soldiers had bumped into Weller and his team as they made their escape with the Spear. Chances are NEST was investigating this occurrence and so it was only a matter of time before they found out what was going on. Even with the possibility of Sector Eight being exposed, Colonel Weller remained his usual calm self.

"Screw NEST," Weller said simply, "By the time they wise up to what's going on it'll be too late." He smiled as he said this because it was very likely to be true: NEST had no clue as to what was happening, why someone would steal the Spear of Destiny or why a Decepticon would steal the Matrix of Leadership or why there were four Decepticons in Tranquility at this very moment. They were completely in the dark as to what was going on.

"Eat up, Xander," Weller added, "We have work to do."


	4. Dispatch

**Dispatch  
**NEST Outpost outside of Provo, Utah  
December 16th, 2010

An organization such as NEST had a number of places they could organize operations from and they did not just have the one headquarters on Diego Garcia. Where the airfield on Diego Garcia was their main base, NEST had many other outposts and bases scattered across the globe which provided the same sort of facilities in the same sort of secretive setting. Mere hours before the Autobots and several NEST soldiers had arrived in the United States in response to the growing crisis. This crisis had included a naval battle off the coast of California, the destruction of a military base in Arizona and the subsequent theft of the Matrix of Leadership. Things were slowly spiralling out of control, hence why the Autobots had been brought to one of NEST's outposts in mainland USA to organize some response to the crisis.

Provo was a town situated near the centre of Utah, a state of rolling plains and mesas, bordered by Arizona, Nevada, Idaho, Colorado and Wyoming. On the outskirts lay a set of old warehouse, bearing the wear and tear often associated with disused buildings. One particular warehouse appeared to be just as abandoned as the rest, its front covered with scrawled graffiti and its frame worn and beaten from years of disuse. However, within the warehouse there was much activity as well as a completely renovated interior. A large set of high-tech and rather expensive computers were in one corner while containers of equipment were stacked against one wall. Racks of guns and other high-tech military equipment was at the far end of the warehouse while a recently built garage complex connected to the warehouse housed several vehicles, some of them standard military fare such as Hummers and Jeeps while a few of them were slightly more exotic.

Technicians and NEST soldiers milled around on their own business. Near the bank of computers a holographic image of the Earth was projected, numerous parts of it marked with red circles and yellow triangles. About half of the interior space of the warehouse had been cleared in order to allow some room for the Autobots to move around. They were all there save for the ones that were missing for whatever reason while Major William Lennox stood nearby, skimming through a rather lengthy set of papers sent from General Morshower who was still over in Diego Garcia running things from that end.

Sunlight filtered in through the windows close to the warehouse's ceiling. From somewhere in the distance a police siren wailed and a dog barked loudly. Up high a light plane buzzed overhead. Standing near Lennox was Master Sergeant Robert Epps and Captain Graham Winters. All three men were looking somewhat more serious than they usually did, although Graham had a slight smile on his features. He very rarely frowned, unlike Lennox and Epps.

The Autobot medic Ratchet was standing near the far corner, his metal features creased into a frown as he shined a sensor from one of his medical devices into one of Jolt's optics. The young Autobot naturally squinted, emitting an annoyed grunt as Ratchet continued the scan. There was something odd about the readings, although Ratchet could not be certain as to what was causing the anomalies. He remembered the anomaly he had found in Jolt's nervous system, one that had seemingly only appeared after his encounter with Centurion a few days before, back when they had been in Holland.

It had occurred to Ratchet only a short time ago that things were gradually getting out of hand. For NEST, it had started a few days ago when Breakaway had arrived to join his fellow Autobots. Sure, that had naturally been a good turn of events up until they had all been dispatched to Holland to investigate an apparent Decepticon sighting. This Decepticon had been Centurion, apparently having returned from some sort of self-imposed state of hibernation. What he was doing on Earth was still uncertain but it had to do with Unicron. Unicron, according to Cybertronian legend, was a dark being capable of destroying entire worlds. Why anyone would spend their time chasing after a legend that might not be true was unknown, although it seemed rather obvious that Centurion was insane.

Ironhide was dead and Breakaway was missing. Ratchet felt as if a part of him was missing without Ironhide for company. He had grown accustomed to the burly Autobot's somewhat short temper and frequency to pull out his cannons, if only to show them off. It was hard to believe that he was really gone, killed by Centurion. If anything this proved just how much of a danger Centurion was and why he must be stopped, no matter what the cost…

The cost was getting a bit too high, especially judging from recent events. Not only was Ironhide dead but Breakaway was missing while there were Primus knew how many Decepticons on the loose. There was also something wrong with Jolt, not only by the suspicious anomaly that had spread through the Autobot's nervous system but by the way Jolt's behaviour had changed. None of the others had seemed to notice but Ratchet, being a medic, was attuned to the personalities of those around him and was far more sensitive to any changes in them. He found that Jolt had become somewhat more apprehensive to the other Autobots, keeping his distance from them while before he had been quite eager to prove his mettle to them. He was still young, still inexperienced: he wanted to prove himself to the others and gain their respect. He still thought himself as the "new guy" after all. And yet now there was something different about him, something that Ratchet could not quite put his finger on.

With the readings completed, Ratchet switched off the sensor and displayed the information across his heads-up display. Jolt watched him through narrowed optics, a hint of apprehension in his gaze. Ratchet ignored it, frowning and mumbling to himself as he finished taking in the readings.

"There's nothing wrong with you," Ratchet said after a lengthy pause. Jolt shook his head, partly relieved and partly annoyed at what a waste of time the check-up had been.

"At least, there's nothing _immediately_ wrong with you," Ratchet added before the younger Autobot could get too complacent, "There's some anomalies when it comes to your nervous system and I would like to run further tests so I can determine…"

"Further tests?" Jolt interrupted, shaking his head. "No, no more tests." His tone was blunt and stern, as if what he said was absolute fact and no one could argue with it.

Ratchet knew better than to listen to a patient. Patients were always saying that they did not need more tests and that they were feeling fine, even when they were quite obviously gravely ill or wounded. He was a medic, he knew better than to listen to what a patient was saying since he knew more than they did abut their own health.

"As Chief Medical officer for the Autobots, I ask that you cooperate," Ratchet said, pulling rank but knowing that his heart was not in it. His voice was edged with exhaustion, as was everybody else's. When was the last time he had taken time to recharge? He could not remember since it had been that long ago. It occurred to him that most of his time in recent days had been spent on a cargo transport going from one part of the world to another: from Diego Garcia to Holland and then from Holland to Austria and now all the way from Austria to here, Provo in Utah. There had been far too much on his mind to permit him to easily take the time to recharge, especially when it came to Ironhide's death. To think that one of their own had been killed…well, it was a shock and this merely proved just how complacent they had all become. After a year of inaction they had become far too comfortable with their lives here on Earth, all of them having not expected the sudden return of Megatron and the near unstoppable Centurion.

"However, I can't necessarily make you take these tests…" Ratchet said but once again Jolt interrupted him, which was quite out of character for the younger Autobot.

"I don't want to take them," Jolt said, "There's nothing wrong with me."

Ratchet did not have a chance to respond to this since Jolt simply turned around and walked away. Such an action simply further cemented the fact that there was something not quite right with Jolt. The young Autobot was acting out of character, perhaps as a result of the anomalies that Ratchet had detected in Jolt's systems. Ratchet was left thinking about this for a moment or two as Jolt went over to one of the metal containers at the other side of the warehouse, seating himself upon it and delving deep into his own thoughts.

The only way Ratchet was going to be able to discover what was wrong with Jolt was if the young Autobot permitted him to take further tests. Unfortunately Ratchet could not really make Jolt submit to testing and the only way he was going to be able to take these tests was if Optimus Prime ordered Jolt to submit to them. Ratchet was fairly confident that Optimus would listen to him, all he had to do was make it clear that there was something not quite right with Jolt and chances are Optimus would order to young Autobot to submit.

Ratchet was now somewhat more concerned about Jolt than he had been previously, especially judging from the young Autobot's reaction to the mention of further tests. If Ratchet's assumptions were correct then it seemed as if Jolt was hiding something…

"Ratchet?"

The Autobot medic turned around at the mention of his name, his train of thought effectively broken. Chromia was standing behind him. She was considerably shorter than he was so he had to peer down at the female Autobot. She looked concerned, as if there was something on her mind. It had been a while since Ratchet had realized that most of the other Autobots saw him as the one that they could talk to if they had something on their mind, most of them having reached the conclusion that Ratchet was a good listener. Ratchet did not mind this fact since he prided himself on being someone you could talk to, regardless of what the subject matter was. He knew these Autobots better than anyone since he was always repairing their wounds, giving them check-ups…He probably knew them all better than they knew themselves.

"Chromia…." He expected her to say something else but when she did not he decided to keep talking. "Is there something on your mind?"

Chromia seemed to frown at the question. There was most certainly something on her mind, Ratchet could tell that much just by looking at her.

"Have you got a moment?" She asked.

"I believe I do," Ratchet said, looking around. The Twins were, as usual, arguing amongst themselves over in one corner of the warehouse while Optimus, Sideswipe and Firestar were standing a short distance away, talking amongst themselves while Lennox and Epps argued about something in quiet tones.

"It's about Breakaway…" Chromia began. Her tone was one of both regret and worry. Ratchet had little trouble in determining why she felt the way she did. It had been no secret that she and Breakaway had had a relationship back on Cybertron before Breakaway had left to go undercover in Centurion's forces. When the pair had been reunited a few days ago Chromia had been understandably upset at Breakaway for having left her all that time ago.

"You regret how you reacted to his return?" Ratchet asked.

Chromia nodded. She gave the robotic equivalent of a sigh, as if realizing her mistake now.

"Well, there's that…" She looked up at Ratchet, her face creased into a regretful frown. "Yes, that's about the extent of it. I didn't think much of it then, but now that he's missing…"

"You think you might not see him again?" Ratchet asked.

"I don't want our last conversation to have consisted of me getting angry at him. From what I've heard, he did some good work when he went undercover back on Cybertron."

"His intelligence efforts saved many lives," Ratchet replied. This was indeed true: with Breakaway on the inside of Centurion's forces he had been able to feed the Autobots information relating to Centurion's every move and thus the Autobot forces had been able to work around Centurion's moves against them or counter them accordingly. Breakaway had put himself at great risk by accepting the mission to infiltrate Centurion's forces and he had managed to avoid being discovered on numerous occasions. Ratchet had not really known Breakaway that well and thought little of how he had gone missing now, although he was not at all pleased with this line of thinking. Breakaway was an Autobot and one of the few Seekers who had aligned themselves with the Autobots: he deserved better respect.

"I just…feel so useless," Chromia said, "I could be out there trying to find him, if only to make amends for how I acted when I saw him a few days ago, after his absence."

"You still love him, don't you?" Ratchet asked. The answer was obvious and Chromia simply nodded in response. A detailed response was not necessary.

"I'm sure we'll find him," Ratchet added, although he could not keep the hopeless tone out of his voice. Chances are Breakaway was dead, killed by whatever massive Decepticon had been out on the sea destroying US Navy ships. Contact with Breakaway had been gone for most of the day, ever since the Autobot Seeker had been sent to investigate a naval battle. It seemed logical to conclude that he was dead, otherwise he would have tried making contact with NEST by now. There was the possibility that he was still alive and unable to communicate with them but this possibility was only slight.

"Somehow I don't think we'll find him," Chromia said, her voice edged with hopelessness. She noticed Ratchet's somewhat surprised gaze and so added: "At least, I don't think we'll find him _alive_."

There was a long pause between the two, neither of them sure of what else to say. Nearby, Lennox looked around and gestured for the Autobots to group around.

"Everybody, gather around!" He exclaimed, "There have been a few developments! Come on, gather around and we can get this briefing started!"  
Ratchet and Chromia exchanged glances before walking over to where Lennox, Epps and Graham were standing. Jolt was the last of the Autobots to gather around the humans, hanging back a short distance from the rest of the group, his attentions diverted elsewhere. Optimus turned to Ratchet, his face as serious as it usually was.

"Anything I should know about Jolt?" He asked.

Ratchet simply shook his head.

"There are some anomalies in his systems, but I don't know why nor do I know what they're doing to him. I need to take further tests, except he won't let me. I'm a medic, I can't make a patient take tests…"

"I'll speak to him later," Optimus said, "Hopefully we can get to the bottom of whatever's wrong with him. And I'll make that he'll let you do those tests."  
Ratchet nodded. _Well,_ he thought, _that wasn't as difficult as I thought it would be_. He managed a glance over at Jolt, taking note of how the Autobot seemed to be not paying attention to anything but his own thoughts, whatever those were.

Lennox frowned and Ratchet immediately detected a change in the human's body temperature. It was as if Lennox had thought of something distressing and such a thought was evident in the way his eyes narrowed and his face gave a rather resigned look. He was silent for a moment and even Graham had ceased smiling. The Autobots had fallen silent at the sudden change in mood, the only noises that of the technicians working the computers nearby.

"There's been some news," Lennox said, "Some bad news. You may have heard that a couple of Autobots arrived on Earth a few days ago…"

"Smokescreen and Depthcharge?" Sideswipe asked. Ratchet had heard of their arrival and had been quite willing to meet the pair, having not seen them for some time.

"Yeah, those two," Lennox replied, pausing momentarily for breath before continuing, "Well, they arrived at Diego Garcia while we were over in Holland. General Morshower decided to send them to Tranquility, Nevada. It just so happens that Starscream and Megatron had been heading for that town and Smokescreen and Depthcharge were the only Autobots available to go and check it out."

"Was sending them to investigate a wise decision, Major?" Optimus asked. He was serious with the question and Lennox, after a moment's thought, simply shrugged.

"It wasn't my decision but it was certainly a better idea than sending no one at all," Lennox said, "Since, as we all should know by now, Tranquility is Sam Witwicky's hometown. And we also should know how much of a vendetta Megatron has against Sam, so it seems probable that he's decided to enact payback. Sam should be home at this time of year anyway, seeing as it's almost Christmas…"

Would Megatron seriously go out of his way to enact revenge on Sam Witwicky? Ratchet had a little trouble figuring out a valid reason save for Sam's possible presence in the town of Tranquility. Megatron surely would not bother going to all the trouble of infiltrating the town just to find Sam? There must have been another reason why he had gone, there just had to be. Ratchet could tell that Optimus was thinking the same sort of thing.

"Are you certain that Sam is the reason why Megatron would go to Tranquility?" Optimus asked.

Lennox shrugged.

"Well, we have no way of knowing why he went. Sam Witwicky's presence in the town just seemed the most obvious…Whatever he's after, he almost got it."

There was a pause as none of the Autobots had been expecting such a succinct and rather blunt statement. Lennox looked defeated and Graham stepped forward to speak instead.

"We received word from Smokescreen about fifteen minutes ago," Graham said. He was putting on a brave face, even though the subject matter was quite obviously upsetting. "Megatron and Starscream…and _Centurion_…The three of them found Sam. They even found Bumblebee…"

"We've already lost Ironhide, and probably Breakaway," Lennox said suddenly, his voice taking on a more hostile tone, "And now Bumblebee's dead! How many more can we lose to this Centurion asshole?"

It took a moment for the word to register in Ratchet's mind. Bumblebee was dead? How could that even be possible? He was one of the youngest Autobots and he had survived some of the hardest battles…And now he was apparently dead? Ratchet immediately noticed a change in the mood amongst the Autobots. Optimus shuffled uneasily where he stood while Sideswipe simply shook his head, swearing in Cybertronian under his breath.

"He's dead?" Chromia asked, almost incredulously, "But how…?"

"That's the thing. Smokescreen was with Depthcharge elsewhere, so they didn't see it happen. They suspect that Bumblebee was ambushed, along with Sam. Now Sam's missing, although Smokescreen says they have a lead on his whereabouts. He says he'll meet us when we get to Tranquility." Lennox paused for a moment and then looked up at Optimus, a slightly bemused look crossing his features. "Oh, and there's one other thing: Smokescreen said that he's found another Autobot, one that only woke up recently."

"Who?" Sideswipe asked, although his usual eagerness had been drowned out by his indignation. Another Autobot dead? None of them could believe it. After almost a whole year of barely anything happening and all of a sudden two of their number get killed…maybe even three if Breakaway's going missing was included.

"His name's Deadeye," Lennox said, "Apparently he's Optimus Prime's son."

All the Autobots looked at Optimus. The Prime put a hand to his forehead area, as if suddenly struck with some rather distressing memories. He shook his head, taking a few moments to regain his composure. He looked down at Lennox, his face grimly serious.

"Is Smokescreen absolutely certain about this?" He asked, as if he was refusing to believe it.

"Well, that's what Smokescreen says. Apparently Deadeye had woken up from a prolonged state of hibernation in the company of some human organization…"

"I told you he'd turn up again someday," Ratchet said, placing a reassuring hand onto the Prime's shoulder. He could tell that for the first time for a while Optimus Prime looked suitably fazed by what was going on in his life. Somehow, through all of the battles that he had fought in, Optimus had managed to keep a calm and calculated composure. Now, at the mention of his only son's return, he looked like he was about to breakdown. He had when Deadeye had disappeared all those years ago, back on Cybertron.

"This brings me to another matter," Lennox said, "It's to do with a rogue human organization. They call themselves 'Sector Eight' and they've been in operation for a few years now. It was them who stole the Holy Lance from the Hofburg Imperial Palace in Vienna. They had apparently recovered Deadeye while he had been in hibernation from the Dutch military a few days ago. And now they seem to be interested in whatever it is Centurion is interested in. We have reason to believe that means they might be headed for Tranquility as well, since that was where Centurion was last seen."

"It was only a matter of time before something like this happened," Graham said, "Someone was going to take advantage of the existence of Cybertronians on Earth eventually. Problem is, we know barely anything about these Sector Eight guys. They almost don't exist in government records and it just so happens that there are a few wealthy politicians who are funding their operations. The Secretary of Defence is busy trying to expose these guys but it's going to be bloody difficult…And it adds a whole new amount of complexity to an almost unfathomable crisis. We still barely have any idea as to why Centurion is on Earth, save for what Smokescreen mentioned when he contacted us: he spoke of a device that Centurion uses that gives him that impenetrable shield of his. If we can somehow get that device off him…"

"Centurion will become as vulnerable as everyone else," Lennox finished, "So that's why we're heading to Tranquility: to help out Smokescreen, Depthcharge and Deadeye while finding out what's happened to Sam Witwicky. On top of that, we try and take this device from Centurion and hurt him a bit in order to get some answers."

So much news in such a short time, no wonder Ratchet was having trouble following it. First Bumblebee's death, then Deadeye's apparent return and now a rogue human organization. It was as if things were gradually going more and more out of control.

"Sector Eight is run by Colonel Francis Weller," Lennox continued, "He's an ex-Sector Seven man, a ruthless and cold-hearted guy who seems to believe that every Cybertronian, Decepticon and Autobot, deserves to die for the trouble they've brought to Earth. He's been in charge of Sector Eight since it first began shortly after Sector Seven was disbanded. This organization have been working on ways of eliminating _your_ kind." His gaze went up to Optimus as he said this. "They're equipped with some dangerous prototype weaponry, so if you do encounter any Sector Eight goons you'd all do well to be extra careful. I know you're all against harming humans but when it comes to Sector Eight…well, you mightn't have a choice in the matter. It'll be either kill or be killed."

There was a lengthy silence as they all took in the information. Lennox rubbed his eyes, an obvious sign that he was feeling tired. Most of the Autobots even felt that way, having had barely any time for recharge in recent days. They were practically in the same state as the sleep-deprived Major Lennox. And yet they would not get a chance to take a break when they had more difficult work ahead of them.

"Our mission is simple enough: we head into Tranquility, ensure the safety of Sam and any other humans and if we run into Centurion we try and take that device of his from him. If we do that, we beat the crap out of him and try and determine some answers…"

"Unicron…" Optimus said this rather absently, still deep in his own thoughts. Hearing that his only offspring was here on Earth and only a lengthy drive away had sent him into a rather withdrawn and solemn state. Even so, he managed to replay the few conversations he had had with Centurion in recent days, all of them mere moments before they had engaged in combat.

"What?" Lennox asked, raising an eyebrow.

"Unicron. He's an old Cybertronian legend…"

"Oh come on, Optimus," Sideswipe said, shaking his head, "No one believes in that stuff anymore. My grandfather used to scare me with stories of that Unicron guy when I was a youngster…In regards to the legend, as the humans would say: it's all just a load of bullshit."

Optimus did not seem to agree. In fact, he seemed quite serious with this particular subject matter.

"I used to think the same as you, Sideswipe," Optimus said, turning to face the Autobot, "But the way Centurion has spoken of him…He believes in him, he sees him as a God."

"Yeah, if I was as crazy as Centurion I would probably see a planet-devouring evil bastard as a God too," Sideswipe replied. He certainly was not buying into any of it. "Just think about the absurdity of it all: An ancient Cybertronian, as big as a planet and who eats planets? Why do I see a problem with that?"

Ratchet did not know what to think. Were those vague legends of a planet-sized, planet-devouring evil being true? It seemed improbable that any Cybertronian could be the size of a planet while imbued with powers that allow it to manipulate space and time. If Centurion believed in Unicron so determinedly it seemed logical to conclude that there was some degree of truth to the legends…Unless Centurion was completely insane. This was certainly more believable.

"A planet-devouring bastard?" Lennox frowned, trying to work his mind around the logistics of it all. "No one can eat planets…"

"Let's hope they can't," Epps interjected, his eyes wide, "Otherwise we're fucked."

"Is this stuff true?" Lennox asked, shifting his gaze back up to Optimus, "Or is it all bullshit, as Sideswipe's been saying?"

"Every time we have encountered Centurion in recent days," Optimus said, "He has spoken to us about his God, a being called 'Unicron'. There are old Cybertronian legends that speak of a being of immense power with that name, one who is said to have the ability to devour planets, quite literally tear them apart and take all of the energy contained within for himself. He sees all life in the universe as an affront to his existence, regardless of whether it is organic such as you humans or Cybertronian, such as we Autobots.

"It is said that there is only one Unicron," Optimus continued, his voice level, "And by one I truly do mean 'one'. Major Lennox, are you familiar with the theory of parallel universes?"  
Lennox frowned, taking a moment to think about it. However, before he could speak Captain Graham cut in with his own response.

"Parallel universes? Like, alternate realities that run parallel to our own and play out an infinite amount of different possible outcomes of everything we do?"

Optimus nodded.

"So, if in this universe I wore red underwear today," Graham continued, realizing he was onto something, "There's a parallel universe out there where I'm not wearing red underwear but blue underwear?"

"Indeed, Captain," Optimus said, "Hence what I am trying to explain: There is, according to legend, only one Unicron. He moves from universe to universe, devouring and destroying everything, including time itself…"

Epps was the one to interrupt this time. Even Ratchet and some of the other Autobots were shaking their heads at mention of this, especially Sideswipe who seemed to have grown tired of the conversation.

"Destroy _time_? How can you possibly destroy time?" Epps said, shaking his head.

"This is crazy…" Lennox muttered, although it was loud enough for all of the Autobots to hear.

"That's what I think," Sideswipe said, "No single being can destroy an entire universe. The whole notion is sheer insanity."

"Regardless of what you all might think, it is better to take into account every possibility. If Centurion is merely crazy, which he very well could be, he may be just delusional. However, on the off-chance that he is right…Well, Centurion has mentioned how he intends to bring Unicron into our universe. If Unicron does exist and Centurion was successful with his plans…" Optimus trailed off, noticing that everybody had a fair idea of what to expect if the aforementioned did occur. Ratchet felt a slight pang of fear, even though he did not quite believe in Unicron's existence. It was all a bit too over-the-top to come across as a plausible notion: no being could devour planets and destroy time. He could believe in parallel universes but he could not see any one being moving through them like someone might go through a door and into a new room. Inter-dimensional travel was impossible.

"We have to get this bastard," Epps said, exchanging glances with Lennox, "Otherwise, if this Unicron guy exists and Centurion somehow brings him into our universe…Well, we can all guess what planet he eats first."

Lennox nodded. Regardless of whether he believed in the existence of Unicron or not, it was imperative they stop Centurion from causing further damage. As well as this, they were all itching to deliver some payback to Centurion for all the harm he had caused: he had killed Ironhide and Bumblebee, maybe even Breakaway.

"Alright, we're moving out," Lennox ordered, "There's a few planes waiting over at the nearby airstrip. I expect each and every Autobot to be outside this warehouse in vehicle mode within the next ten minutes. I know we're all tired and demoralised but, if this Unicron guy exists there's more at stake here than just Earth. There's a whole universe at stake and God only knows how many lives we'll save if we stop Centurion from carrying out his crazy plan.

"I want to see Centurion die for all the harm he's caused," Lennox continued, his voice taking on a prouder tone, "He killed Ironhide and I know we all took his loss quite hard. Now with Bumblebee gone we simply cannot stand by and let this Centurion asshole trample all over us. We cannot afford to lose anymore Autobots which is why I want every single one of you to try your best to stay alive. If you have to kill humans, especially if we encounter Sector Eight, then kill humans. There is far more at stake here, at least there is if Unicron does exist."  
"He does exist," Jolt said suddenly. All the other Autobots turned to look at him and Jolt fell silent, either from embarrassment or because he had said all he had wanted to say.

"Regardless of whether he exists or not, we must stop Centurion," Lennox said, "And while we're at it, we may as well stop Megatron as well. If we can kill all of these assholes today then we have a much better future ahead of us."

After a moment's pause Epps stepped forward, nodding towards the garage door at the far end of the warehouse.

"Let's start moving!" Epps barked sternly, "We can't afford to waste anymore time!"

As the human NEST soldiers gathered equipment and began to load themselves into SUVs and Jeeps, the Autobots started on their way to the garage door. Ratchet reverted to his vehicle mode of a yellow search and rescue H2 Hummer, driving behind Optimus and Sideswipe as they changed into their respective vehicle modes and started through the now open garage door, heading out into the warm Utah sun. There was so much to think about and for a moment Ratchet thought of the eager young and yellow Autobot known as Bumblebee, the one that had vowed to protect Sam Witwicky no matter what happened. And now Bumblebee was dead and Sam was missing, as if by some cruel twist of fate. Whatever had happened in that battle, Bumblebee would have tried his hardest to save Sam. Bumblebee had not been one to simply give up when the odds were against him, instead he would stand his ground and give his opponents a damn good thrashing, even if he knew his own death would result.

This business with Centurion had gone on long enough with already a terrible cost. He had to be stopped and Ratchet was determined more than ever to stop him. For the deaths of Ironhide and Bumblebee, Centurion would pay dearly. Ratchet was feeling an inner rage build inside him, one that was quite uncharacteristic for him. Then again, such desperate times could bring out the worst in anyone.


	5. Standoff

**Standoff  
**Tranquility, Nevada  
December 16th, 2010

Half of Starscream's face had been blasted away by Bumblebee earlier in the day, leaving a jagged mess of metal and oozing energon fluid. Starscream had only his right eye left, the other having disappeared in the mess that was his right side of his face. The jagged metal gave him a far more intimidating look, complemented by the fact that he was far angrier than he usually was at the loss of an eye. Even now this one good "optic" leered down at Sam Witwicky while the Decepticon's right arm cannon was pointed straight at the human. Nearby James Turner and Jones Marshall sat tied up to chairs: where Jones was looking absolutely terrified, James was continuously struggling against the ropes that bound him. Starscream would usually have dissuaded the humans from such actions by threatening to shoot him but fortunately for James, Starscream's attention was diverted straight to Sam.

Sam cradled his broken right arm, that brief flicker of hope he had felt when he had coaxed Megatron and Centurion into fighting now gone. Now he was staring right into the barrel of Starscream's large energy cannon and all Sam felt was resignation: Bumblebee was gone and he blamed himself for the Autobot's death, so it seemed fair that he himself should die next. While he waited for the inevitable blast, Megatron and Centurion continued to brawl nearby.

The pair of Decepticons had since smashed through some machinery and were now close to one of the walls of the warehouse. The pair was going at each other like a couple of drunken brawlers, delivering fists into each other's faces. Centurion's personal shield absorbed every blow Megatron struck against him, burning his opponent's clenched fists at each punch. Megatron stumbled back and Starscream seemed to lose interest in Sam, diverting his attention to the fighting pair. It was obvious that Starscream was more interested in the fight since whoever won would be his new commander.

Part of Sam was annoyed at the lack of action on Starscream's part: The Decepticon was supposed to have shot him already…then again, why would he want to get shot? His mind was full of contradicting thoughts and he was having difficulty clearing them all up, especially with all of what was happening around him. He was guilty about Bumblebee's death and yet he knew that having such a defeated attitude would not get him anywhere. He had been in tougher scrapes than this, hadn't he?

James was still struggling against the ropes that bound him, looking more determined than ever. Jones had his eyes closed, expecting Sam to get blasted and so was saving himself the trouble of having to watch the ensuing mess. When the shot did not come Jones opened his eyes, looking around and frowning when he saw what James seemed to be doing to the ropes that bound their wrists behind the chairs they were seated in. The look in Jones' eyes and James' determined grimace certified something important…Sam saw the pairs differing expressions and immediately realized that James was indeed working on an escape. How he was doing it was beyond Sam's knowledge but this new hope quickly quelled his previous defeatist attitude. Bumblebee may be dead but Sam sure as hell was not about to let the death of his Autobot guardian be in vain.

There was a near deafening crash nearby and Sam swivelled his head around to discover the source of the noise. Centurion stood tall and intimidating, a look of satisfaction on his face as he strode over to where a dazed Megatron lay. Part of the wall there had been smashed through and Megatron lay sprawled across the wreckage, an annoyed grimace showing on his metallic features. He had little time to react before Centurion stopped before him and lifted his rival up by the neck with one hand, his shield burning the metal there. Megatron grunted as Centurion lifted him about a metre off of the floor with little effort. Centurion's gaze was one of contempt mingled with satisfaction.

As much as Sam would have liked to watch Megatron get the crap beaten out of him, the situation the human was in prevented him from getting as much satisfaction as he could out of it. If Megatron was killed then they would have to deal with Centurion, a foe who was obviously far stronger than Megatron had ever been. There was something odd about Centurion, perhaps it was the obvious madness that one could see within the Decepticon's cold red optics? Or maybe it was the fact he had the ability to create an impenetrable personal shield around his form…This may not have been a surprise if it were not for the foreboding that this was a mere precursor to other abilities that Centurion had, ones that he had not yet showed off.

"Do not ever try to usurp my position of power again, Megatron," Centurion said simply as if telling off a misbehaving child, his voice laced with dislike for the rival he had gripped by the throat, "Otherwise I will have no qualms about killing you. However, you are still yet to serve your purpose in the grand scheme of things. I will let you live…but do not ever challenge me again."

Megatron was silent, keeping a straight face as Centurion let him go. Megatron's feet found the floor again and the Decepticon swayed uncertainly for a moment, putting a hand to his neck where Centurion's shield had burned him. There would be scarring there for sure and this fact seemed to annoy Megatron, evident by his grimace when he traced one finger along the burns.

"You obviously underestimate me, Megatron," Centurion continued, "A lot has changed since the last time we met. I have power that neither you nor any of your Decepticon friends can match….and I would not even _try_ to prove otherwise."

Sam was waiting for James to do whatever it was he was trying to do. However, James had stopped struggling against the ropes and was looking towards Megatron and Centurion, listening to what was being said. James gave him a worried glance.

"Damn it, man, just cut the damn ropes!" Jones whispered, annoyed. James resumed working at the ropes, doing it gradually as to not to gain the attention of any of the Decepticons in the room.

Starscream turned his one good optic back down to Sam. He waved his right arm cannon threateningly, as if waiting for Sam to give him an excuse to shoot him. Sam remained still, sitting on the table and leaving his broken right arm to hang limply down his side. It hurt like hell and Sam gritted his teeth, trying to ignore the fact that a jagged broken end of bone was jutting out of his flesh.

"You are over-confident, Centurion," Megatron said after a prolonged silence. He eyed his rival carefully, much in the way a boxer would his opponent before stepping into the ring to fight him. It was obvious that Megatron would attempt to challenge him again, although he would be far more careful about it next time.

Sam knew that he, James and Jones were missing their chance to escape. Whatever James was doing, and it was obvious he was doing something, he ought to be doing it faster. However, James suddenly stopped and even from where Sam was he could see that the ropes around him had loosened considerably. Somehow the priest had cut through them, with what was unclear. Sam's eyes met with James' and the middle-aged priest gave a slight nod. Sam simply nodded back, having no idea about what James was planning and so had decided to play along. It was obvious that this priest was a bit crazy, he had determined this earlier in the day when he had found out that James Turner had spent most of the last three decades searching for evidence to do with the existence of Cybertronians. James even had files on Sam and apparently had contacts in organizations, such as ex-Sector Seven Agent Simmons. It seemed that James had been quite lucrative in his quest to find out about Cybertronians on Earth.

Jones was looking at James as if he though that the priest was nuts. Starscream did not notice what had happened, instead concentrating on Sam as he waved the arm cannon around threateningly.

"One move, insect," Starscream said succinctly, "and I'll blow you to pieces."

Sam did not need anymore persuasion than that and so sat still, flitting his eyes towards Centurion and Megatron. The pair were standing a short distance across from each other, each one eyeing the other carefully. They were definitely going to go at each other again, this much was certain. Still, Centurion continued with his talking, most of which was about how good he was.

"I have seen things you wouldn't believe," Centurion said, his red optics wide as if he was seeing something unbelievable right now, "You think you have been through a lot…You know nothing until you have spent time in the void as I have. I had the wisdom of Unicron impressed upon me and it was glorious…"

"I have no time for this nonsense," Megatron said, shaking his head, "I have better things to do than to listen to a lunatic such as you speak of non-existent beings…"

Without warning Centurion clenched his right hand into a fist and delivered a lightning fast jab across the side of Megatron's head. It all happened in seconds and by the end of those seconds Megatron lay on the floor, a large gash in the side of his head while energon fluid oozed freely from it. Rather than get back up and deliver a return blow, Megatron remained still. It was as if he was…dead. Sam could not believe what he had just seen: Megatron dead? That had happened once before and somehow the Decepticon had returned. Death just did not seem as much as an obstacle to Cybertronians as it was to humans.

Centurion admired his handiwork briefly before leaning forwards and lifting Megatron's limp carcass up with one hand. Starscream looked aghast at what had just happened, just as unbelieving as Sam was. If it were not for Centurion's presence Sam probably would have cheered at such an occurrence. However, with Megatron gone Centurion could reign freely…

"You still have a purpose to serve, even in this state," Centurion said. There was a twitching at Megatron's arm, indicating that there was still life in him. Starscream relaxed noticeably when he saw this.

"Is he dead?" He asked, some incredulity creeping into his voice.

"Not quite," Centurion replied matter-of-factly, "Lord Unicron has something planned for him. He requires Megatron alive…but that does not necessarily mean he has to be functioning properly."

"Unicron does not ex—"

"Do not make the same mistake Megatron did by saying that Unicron does not exist," Centurion interrupted, his tone serious and malevolent. Starscream wisely fell silent. "Unicron _does_ exist…I have seen him."

Again there was this talk about "Unicron". Sam had no idea who this "Unicron" guy was but by the sound of it he was one evil bastard. If Centurion saw him as some sort of God then there was definitely nothing good abut Unicron. Indeed, Unicron must be one very powerful evil bastard if someone like Centurion saw him as a God.

"What are you going to do with him?" Starscream asked, breaking the brief silence that had fallen upon the inside of the warehouse.

"Nothing as yet. Megatron's injuries will repair themselves in a short time, but with him no longer functioning to his full extent I can have some peace without having to deal with his constant attempts of trying to kill me. I hope you do not try something similar, Starscream…"

"I will not," Starscream replied. From the way he said this it did indeed seem that Starscream had learnt that messing with Centurion was a bad thing.

Outside, there was the distant sound of a car skidding. Neither Centurion nor Starscream seemed to notice but Sam heard it for what it was. He glanced towards James and shot him a narrowed gaze, signalling him to do whatever it was he was trying to do. James sat him straight and let the ropes fall from him, dropping the piece of broken glass he had used to cut through them. There was a fair amount of broken glass lying around so it seemed that James, being the resourceful type, had gotten hold of some for his own benefit.

Before Starscream realized that James was free the priest had reached for his right ankle, lifting up the pants leg slightly and revealing that he wore a large .44 Magnum revolver on a strap there. Sam, in any other situation, would have rolled his eyes when he saw this extra security precaution but the situation was not one where someone would think of rolling their eyes. When you see your one chance at escape you would not roll your eyes up at it.

James pulled the revolver away and stood up, turning around to face Starscream. Within seconds James had raised the revolver and fired with startling accuracy, the bullet slamming into Starscream's one good eye. The bullet with its large size shattered the fragile lens of Starscream's one good red optic. The red glow died and miniscule pieces of the glass and metal that comprised the optic and its shutter scattered downwards. Starscream howled in anger clutching at his face as he stumbled around blindly. Centurion watched, bemused as Starscream's arm cannon fired wildly into the ceiling. Part of the ceiling erupted outwards and sheets of metal fell into the warehouse.

Immediately Prometheus had stormed inside: he was a little shorter than Centurion and bore the parts of the modern day military tank he used as a vehicle mode. He had been standing guard outside and had been the one to deliver Centurion the Matrix of Leadership. Usually Prometheus was looking a little crazy, sort of like Centurion…This time around he looked somewhat subdued.

Starscream stumbled around, howling in anger and going absolutely berserk. He was blind, one optic having been blasted away by Bumblebee during the fight earlier in the day and the other optic having been blown to pieces by James' well-placed revolver shot. Starscream stumbled against one wall of the warehouse, crashing through the metal and wood, landing into a muddy paddock outside. The rain was still pouring down outside, thunder rumbling in the distance. He stood up and steadied himself against the side of the warehouse, as if trying to gather his bearings.

James raced over to Jones and untied the ropes that bound him. Centurion saw this and went to raise his arm cannon but was dissuaded when he saw who was with Prometheus. It explained why the pyromaniac Decepticon was so resigned: Deadeye stood behind him, a sidearm pointed at the back of Prometheus' head. The other was clutched in Deadeye's other hand, pointing towards Centurion.

Deadeye was about the same size as Prometheus and his face beared many similarities to that of his father, Optimus Prime. The blue optics were the most obvious resemblance, but personality wise Deadeye was quite different. Where Optimus was calm and calculating, Deadeye was hot-headed and arrogant. His vehicle mode was of Jones' red four door saloon car, one that that human had won in a raffle only yesterday. It was funny how everything came together in the end.

"Don't move," Deadeye said. His voice held a distinct British twang, having been leftover from his short time spent in war-torn Arnhem, Holland in 1944. Sam was pleased to see Deadeye and realized that maybe there was hope in this situation after all.

Centurion seemed to go wide-eyed when he saw the young Autobot, as if he had not been expecting such an occurrence. This was made evident by what he said next.

"You're supposed to be _dead_!" Centurion spat angrily.

James had finished untying Jones and the pair stood up, turning around to face the standoff that had begun. Centurion let Megatron's unconscious body go, letting it slam on the floor loudly. This was enough to stir the beaten up Decepticon but Megatron's systems were too damaged for him to stand up. Instead, he remained on the floor, twitching every now and then. Outside, Starscream continued to yell in rage, sent blind by an unfortunate twist of fate (at least, it was unfortunate for him).

From behind Prometheus and Deadeye came Depthcharge, the tall and authoritative Autobot whose alternate mode was a US Navy gunboat. He was mostly grey and light blue in colour, with narrowed blue optics and an agile form.

"I got better," Deadeye replied. He might have been smiling but it was hard to tell. Robots were often hard to read and Deadeye was definite proof of this. His face was built much like his father's, with a near invisible mouth that matched the colour of his face plate. Whatever he was thinking it certainly did not show on his face.

Centurion seemed to calm down and return to his usual demeanour, but even so there was still noticeable agitation etched in his metallic features. He looked towards Depthcharge, trying to work out who the Autobot.

"Who's your friend?" Centurion asked, almost mockingly.

"My name's Depthcharge," Depthcharge replied, somewhat proudly. He stepped forwards, both arm cannons raised. He seemed to regard Centurion briefly, taking in his form in obvious expectation of a fight.

Deadeye's gaze went to Sam and a slight look of reassurance crossed his features, although it was hard to tell. Sam must have looked relieved to see him.

"Sorry I'm late, Sam," Deadeye said, "I got held up."

_Held up with what?_ Sam was about to ask. Deadeye and Depthcharge could have easily intervened in the battle earlier and stopped Bumblebee from suffering an untimely demise…Then again, maybe they had been on their way and just had not arrived in time. Whatever had happened, Sam did not see any point in harbouring annoyance against either of the Autobots. Both Deadeye and Depthcharge seemed to have god intentions and appeared to be just as regretful for what had happened earlier as Sam was.

"What's wrong with him?" Depthcharge said, nodding towards the limp Megatron whom Centurion clutched by the back of the neck in one hand.

"Who, Megatron?" Centurion asked. He held up Megatron's head, turning the Decepticon's red optics towards the two Autobots. "Take a look, Megatron: It's Optimus Prime's son." Centurion's tone was a taunting one and he appeared to be taking great pleasure at having this sort of control over his rival. "I'm sure you two would just love to get to know one another…"

Deadeye was unfazed by all of this. Instead, he pressed the barrel of one of his energy-hurling side arms against the back of Prometheus' head. The way his optics were narrowed indicated he that he had no qualms in killing Prometheus.

"This has gone on long enough," Deadeye said, his tone stern, "Let Sam Witwicky go, as well as the other two…"

"_Other two_?" James sounded annoyed. "We do have names, you know!"

Outside, Starscream wandered about blindly, still yelling in what sounded like Cybertronian. He felt his way back inside the warehouse and stopped, realizing that there were others inside who had not been there before. He looked around, suddenly confused.

"Who's there?" He asked.

No one cared enough to answer. Instead, Depthcharge levelled both arm cannons towards him and blasted Starscream squarely in the chest with two fully charged energy shots. Starscream was sent flying backwards, crashing through another section of wall and landing in a muddy paddock outside. He writhed about on the ground both in pain and in anger. Centurion seemed surprised at what had just happened and turned his gaze back towards Deadeye.

"What if I don't want to let Sam Witwicky go?" He asked.

"Why wouldn't you want to let me go?" Sam said. What reason would Centurion have to keep him?

"You have no reason to hold him captive," Deadeye said. Sam breathed a sigh of relief. At least someone here was thinking along the same lines as him.

"Yes, but let's just say I wanted to keep him: What would you do?"

Deadeye did not reply verbally. Instead, he moved the gun he had pointed at the back of Prometheus' head down so that it pointed at the back of one of the Decepticon's knees. Within seconds he pulled the trigger and blasted a chunk out of the leg, letting Prometheus drop to the floor and yell in pain. Deadeye did not look at all remorseful, instead he simply spun both his side arms around in his hands like a Wild West cowboy and pointed one of them at Centurion. The other he pointed down at Prometheus' head.

"I'll kill your friend here," Deadeye said after a moment's pause, "And, if you persist, I'll kill you."  
Centurion laughed, almost like some super-villain from a superhero movie. Deadeye kept a straight face, having since grown accustomed to Centurion's overconfidence.

"I know how to get rid of that energy shield of yours," Deadeye said, surprisingly calm for all that was happening around him. Sam was beginning to tire of these exchanges between the good guys and the bad guys, hoping that something would happen soon that would allow him to escape.

"I would like to see you try…" Centurion began but was interrupted by Deadeye before he could finish.

"I have tried…and I have succeeded before," Deadeye said simply. Whether he was telling the truth or not, Sam did not know. By the look Centurion gave it certainly appeared that Deadeye was telling the truth, hinting that maybe Centurion was not as invincible as everybody thought he was.

"Deadeye, we're wasting time," Depthcharge said, his voice edged with concern, "I think we should just…"

"Just shoot the place up?" Deadeye's optics brightened noticeably as he said this. "Yes, I believe we should."

Sam had reached the conclusion that Deadeye was one cocky Autobot. Sam stood up, keeping his broken arm at his side while Deadeye spun both guns around in his hands. The Autobot fired them both at Centurion, blasts hurling forth from the barrels at a lightning fast pace. Each one exploded on Centurion, causing the Decepticon's personal energy shield to flare brightly as they absorbed the force of each shot. Centurion stumbled slightly but otherwise stood his ground. He let Megatron's limp body drop to the floor once again and once he was free of this burden, Centurion transformed his right arm into an intimidating looking cannon. He pointed it towards the two Autobots and opened fire, the rapid-firing energy cannon spewing blast after blast, spraying them wildly. Holes were blown into the wall behind where Deadeye and Depthcharge had been standing while rusted machinery was laid waste to. Deadeye dived to one side, firing both of his guns as he did so. Most of the shots he fired hit Centurion squarely in the chest, causing the Decepticon to stumble and cease firing momentarily.

"Sam! Start running!" Deadeye shouted.

Sam had been still for most of the standoff, listening intently while trying to work out what he should do, whether he should start running or not. James and Jones had already started for the exit, leaving Sam standing almost dumbfounded in the centre of the warehouse. So much had happened today and yet so much was still happening…It had been one hell of a day and it was not even dinner time yet.

Deadeye was yelling at him, knocking Sam out of his self-induced stupor. However, Sam would have started running were it not for the fact that something had fallen from Centurion, glinting in the light that flowed from the fluorescents in the ceiling of the warehouse. Centurion did not notice it immediately, still far too busy getting shot at to worry about an item falling from one of the compartments in his chest armour.

Sam started running, going for where the Matrix of Leadership had fallen to the floor. It would bring him awfully close to Centurion but he did not care, just as long as he got hold of the Matrix and prevented Centurion from using it in whatever twisted scheme he had planned. Deadeye and Depthcharge had opened fire, quite literally pouring it onto Centurion, each shot exploding almost harmlessly on his personal energy shield. The heat from the blasts was close now, Sam could feel a wave of warmth flow over him every time another shot collided with the stumbling Centurion.

Sam hit the floor and started sliding across the butt of his pants, coming to a stop a short distance from where the Matrix of Leadership lay. Impulsively he reached out with his right arm, practically forgetting that it was broken. He winced with pain but managed to bring his right hand around the warm shape of the Matrix, emitting a cry of triumph as he grabbed it.

By now Prometheus was back on his feet and had turned around, lunging for Deadeye. Depthcharge swivelled around to aid his fellow Autobot, blasting Prometheus in the back and sending the Decepticon flying a short distance, coming to a stop sprawled on the floor near Deadeye's feet. Before neither Autobot could exchange triumphant glances Centurion recovered from the blasts that had been hitting him, bringing up his right arm cannon and shooting Depthcharge in the back. The shot tore straight through Depthcharge, blowing a large portion out of his front as it exploded out of him. Depthcharge stumbled, a stunned look crossing his metallic features as he turned around to face Centurion.

Prometheus was still alive and slowly got up, a smoking hole in his back where Depthcharge's shot had landed. He turned around and brought out a jagged long-sword from his right arm, making sure the serrated edges of the blade glinted in the light. He lunged for Deadeye, slicing the blade across the Autobot's front. Deadeye stumbled, a deep gash across his chest where the blade had cut into him. He pushed Prometheus away, sending the Decepticon flying through the nearest wall and out into the car park outside.

James and Jones were at the exit. While Jones simply ran outside in order to save himself, James turned around to look at Sam. He yelled at him to get moving and Sam, now with the Matrix of Leadership clutched in his right hand, started to run towards the exit regardless of the pain he could feel in his broken right arm.

"The Matrix is _mine_, boy!" Centurion shouted. Sam felt his heart skip a beat then and there as he realized that Centurion had seen him running off with the Matrix of Leadership.

Sam heard Centurion's cannon fire and instinctively dived. The shot was low and seemed to scrape along the Matrix of Leadership which was gripped in his hand. Intense, agonizing heat washed over him while fragments of the Matrix flew into his face, burning his skin and getting into his mouth. Sam coughed and a chunk of the Matrix flew out of his mouth, landing on the floor in front of him. Lying dazed and confused on the floor, Sam started to crawl towards where James was, suddenly no longer having the energy to get up and run. James started running towards him in order to help, his eyes wide when he saw the damage that had been caused.

Pieces of the Matrix of Leadership had become embedded in Sam Witwicky's broken right arm. They were hot from the heat of the blast that Centurion had sent his way and each burned ferociously, the smell of sizzling flesh reaching Sam's nostrils and making him gag. A quick look at his right arm revealed that his whole forearm had been burned, complete with melted flesh and charred skin. On top of the burns there were pieces of the Matrix of Leadership jutting out of his arm and Sam used his left hand to pluck some of the larger ones out, yelling in pain with each one he pulled. However, the removal of the larger pieces did not get rid of the eerie blue-white ooze that had begun to develop around the edges of the wounds where the pieces had embedded themselves. There were undoubtedly hundreds of microscopic sized pieces embedded in his flesh, adding to the almost unbearable pain of the burns that had enveloped his right forearm.

In any other circumstances Sam would have passed out at the sheer sight of his mutilated arm. However, these were unique circumstances he was in: he was getting shot at by an annoyed Decepticon, thus passing out was not an option. The adrenaline surged through him as he rose to his feet with help from James and the two of them started running for the door. Sam looked back and saw that Depthcharge, despite the fact that a large scorching hole had been blown through his chest, had begun shooting at Centurion. This diverted the Decepticon's attention away from Sam.

"Get moving, Deadeye!" Depthcharge shouted, his voice weak, "I'll hold him off! Help Sam and the others!"

Deadeye looked at a loss on what to do. He looked towards Depthcharge and saw the look in the fellow Autobot's optics: he was serious about being left behind. Deadeye would have wanted to do otherwise but even he knew that defeating Centurion would take far more work than what had happened just now. Depthcharge transformed his right arm into a sleek silver sword and started running towards Centurion, emitting a loud battle-cry as he delivered a sharp kick to the Decepticon's stomach area.

Deadeye followed after the humans, turning around to watch as Depthcharge knocked Centurion onto the floor and began to strike at him ferociously with his sword. It did not take much for Centurion to turn his right arm into his own sword, thrusting it straight through Depthcharge's front and tearing a large gash down through the Autobot's torso. Centurion stood up and used one foot to push Depthcharge off of his sword, leaving the wounded Autobot to writhe about weakly on the floor.

By that time Sam, James and Jones were outside. The adrenaline pumping through Sam's systems began to subside and as his mind began to clear up the pain in his mutilated right arm began to increase. The falling rain cooled the burns off slightly but with each droplet that fell onto the affected area of his body the more pain that erupted from it. Sam gazed at his right arm, eyes wide as he saw that the pieces of the Matrix of Leadership embedded within the flesh had seemingly fused with him. He put the fingers of his left hand to one of the larger pieces and tried to pull but the pain was too much and Sam gave up, eyes watering and defeated attitude returning. Jones and James had stopped nearby and looked at Sam and his mutilated right arm, unsure of what to make of it.

A closer inspection revealed that a shiny metal layer had begun to develop on part of Sam's right arm. Whatever the hell was happening to him, the pain he was feeling was just the beginning. What Sam needed right now was a good rest and maybe some powerful painkiller, like morphine.

Deadeye barged through a wall in the warehouse, emerging nearby. He saw the three humans and ran towards them.

"We have to go," he said. Immediately he changed into his vehicle form, folding in on himself until Jones' sleek and red four door car was before them. The trio quickly climbed in and as soon as the doors were shut Deadeye effectively floored the accelerator, sending them out of the car park before swerving sharply to bring them onto the road.

Sam sat in the passenger seat, staring at his mutilated arm. He simply could not believe it: it was changing before his very eyes, he could see it. He could feel it, the pain going right down into the bone. The metal layer began to spread across his skin and slight grooves could be seen within it, almost like the joints of a…Cybertronian. It was too early to start making guesses but Sam suddenly realized that he was in a lot of trouble. When he had arrived in town earlier today he had been expecting a fairly easy day ahead of him…and now here he was, effectively transforming ever so slowly and subjected to a heavy amount of pain. His arm burned, itched and ached incredibly. He needed painkillers, otherwise he was going to pass out. If he did, it wouldn't be just from the pain: it would be from the fact that he had lost Bumblebee and how they had just lost Depthcharge.

"Where are we going?" Jones asked.

"Las Vegas," James replied, "I know someone there we can talk to. I was going to go there myself until you two showed up and now…Well, now we're all caught up in some kind of war."

James paused and turned to look at Sam. Since Deadeye was driving, James did not need to pay attention to the road. His gaze fell onto Sam's mutilated and slowly transforming arm.

"Does that hurt?" James asked.

As if in response, Sam Witwicky passed out.


	6. Reconstruction

**Reconstruction  
**Somewhere in the Nevada desert  
December 16th, 2010

Funnily enough, Breakaway felt far more alive than he had ever felt before. Strength flowed through him, far more than any other time in his life. His body was filled with an overwhelming sense of vitality and his mind seemed far clearer and less jumbled as it had been. Where earlier his mind had been full of contradicting thoughts and he had been overcome by a defeatist attitude, now it was crystal clear and he knew exactly what he would do. The female Seeker, Slipstream, had showed him the truth to what was happening. She wanted him as a mate and she had made this abundantly clear by what they had done together earlier. She wanted him by his side and together they could rule over this planet and perhaps many others. They would align themselves with neither Autobot nor Decepticon. Instead, they would create their own empire and they would destroy any opposition. And when Unicron returned he would imbue them with God-like abilities, making them far more powerful than anything they could have possibility dreamed about.

Breakaway could not understand why he had been so against Slipstream earlier. She had helped him see things the way she did and she seemed might determined to ensure his safety, going so far as to arrange for the majority of his parts to be replaced. A Decepticon who called himself the "Surgeon" was in charge of this operation, working on Breakaway while inside a dimly lit and rundown warehouse, one that was located near an ill-maintained desert highway. Breakaway had been lying in a semi-conscious state for a few hours now, able to feel the small-sized and mumbling Decepticon work on his armour and repair any damaged systems of his. The Surgeon was about four feet tall, fitted with several surgical-implement appendages that were nimble enough to allow him to work quickly yet effectively. Slipstream stood off to the side, her form silhouetted against a bright stream of sunlight that shone through a window behind her head. Her gaze met with Breakaway's and she seemed to smile. Breakaway could only return this gesture.

Slipstream was Centurion's daughter…Yet she was willing to kill her father and install herself as ruler of Earth, with Breakaway by her side. She certainly had the Decepticon knack for betraying her superiors, something that practically every Decepticon seemed to have. Looking at her now, Breakaway could not help but feel attracted to her. He felt lucky since Slipstream had chosen him and not some other airborne Seeker, like Starscream. She had chosen _him_ out of all the Cybertronians on Earth…And Breakaway knew he could not let her down.

She seemed to have her plan worked out quite well, a fact that made it clear that she had been planning it for quite some time. Tidal Wave was part of it as was the Surgeon. Breakaway wondered how Centurion would react when his own daughter stabbed him in the back. He knew he would have to be around to see Centurion's reaction.

The Surgeon mumbled to himself as he continued to replace Breakaway's parts. As he had said before the procedure had begun: _"I must take you apart before I can rebuild you."_ Breakaway had not minded this, especially since he had lost both of his legs and his right arm. When he was rebuilt he was quite eager to try out his new body with Slipstream…in _that_ way. The Surgeon had gone about the task of rebuilding Breakaway's battered and mutilated body with much concentration while Slipstream had watched on from the side. Breakaway could already feel the effects his reconstruction was having on his overall strength: he felt far stronger than he had ever felt in his life before.

He thought of the way Chromia had rejected him: when it had happened, he had been as the humans would say, "heart-broken". He could understand why his long and unexplained absence had hurt Chromia but he had been expecting her to be quite happy to see him again. He had not been expecting the rejection she had offered him instead. Now with Slipstream as the one he loved, Breakaway could forget abut Chromia. He did not need her and he never would again. He and Slipstream would remain loyal to each other and, once Centurion was out of the way, they would rule this world together.

Breakaway could tell that the Surgeon was just about finished. He fitted the last of the armour plating to Breakaway, took a step back and managed a satisfied chirp at his handiwork. Slowly but surely Breakaway lifted an arm out in front of him, his right one, relieved to see that it was back in place…and looking suitably different. His vehicle form had been of a desert brown F-35 fighter jet…he would still retain that vehicle form but now it would be a sleek and shiny black. He could see the black plating along his arm.

"Be careful," The Surgeon said abruptly, "Something might fall off…"  
Breakaway ignored him and sat up, taking a look at his new black and streamlined form. He glanced over at Slipstream who had stepped forwards, taking herself out of the glare of the sun. She gazed down at where he sat, smiling with some noticeable satisfaction on her metallic features.

"That's much better," she said.

"Could I at least get a look at my face?" Breakaway asked. This was when he noticed a slight change in his voice…It was a little more incisive, a bit more raspy. He looked down at himself, taking note of his new shining black armour. He wriggled his legs, able to see that they were brand new ones. Where the Surgeon had got the parts to rebuild his legs, Breakaway did not know. It seemed safe to assume that he had got them from wherever the Decepticons had their base of operations.

The Surgeon reached over to a nearby table with one of his skinny, agile hands. With it he picked up a piece of what had once been part of a large mirror. It was covered with dust and with one fluid movement the Surgeon wiped the majority of the dust off, letting the particles float through the sunlight that streamed in through the windows nearby. He handed the mirror to Breakaway who took it with his left hand, holding it up so he could peer at himself in the reflection.

Breakaway's facial features were mostly the same, save for the improved optics. Unsurprisingly he could see far better with these and rather than be a passive bright blue they were an intimidating glowing red colour. He liked the red better…He always had liked red better, he thought red optics gave the Decepticons a more intimidating appearance.

"New weapons systems…I mean, you have some modified weapons systems…" The Surgeon said, sounding unsure of where he should start. Breakaway tossed the mirror aside, hearing it smash somewhere. He had known that the Surgeon would provide him with some improved weaponry, he just did not know what weaponry exactly. He always preferred his sniper rifle, having always been fond of the idea of picking off a target from a mile away.

"Modified weapons systems?" Breakaway asked. He took a look at his mostly black and shining right arm. It was the arm that transformed into a sniper rifle, although when he commenced this transformation now it changed into something a bit bigger. The long sniper rifle-length barrel was still there, as was the scope that was linked up to his optics but there was something noticeably bulkier about this new rifle.

"Yes, yes…a prototype system I designed myself," the Surgeon explained, a hint of pride creeping into his high-pitched voice, "It is still a sniper rifle, as I knew you would not…uh…be able to part with your, uh…_signature weapon_…"

"Just get to the point," Breakaway said. Hearing the Surgeon stammer and waffle on about nothing in particular was beginning to annoy Breakaway. It was small, dweeb-like Decepticons like the Surgeon that annoyed Breakaway the most. The Seeker narrowed his gaze as the Surgeon replied.

"Now, this new rifle…It is a, uh…Well, I like to call it the 'suppression rifle'…."

"Again, just get to the point," Breakaway said. Slipstream seemed to take amusement with his reaction to the Surgeon's annoying way of delaying what he was trying to explain. A rather funny thought cropped into Breakaway's mind, one that he knew he would have to follow up on…just as soon as the Surgeon was finished explaining the workings of Breakaway's new form.

"Why don't you try it out for yourself?" The Surgeon asked, sounding excited at the idea. Breakaway looked around the dusty interior of the old desert warehouse, fixing his gaze onto the far wall ahead. With little effort he took aim with the new rifle, squeezing the trigger and feeling a satisfying jolt of recoil. A blue beam, one that buzzed with energy, lanced forth from the barrel of the rifle and connected with the wall. At first there was nothing until something large and glowing shot along the beam with incredible velocity. The air around the targeted section of the wall seemed to bend momentarily, as if the laws of physics itself were being altered at that very spot. Suddenly the targeted section of the wall exploded outwards in a spout of blue-white fire. The explosion shook the ground underneath them and blew a hole straight through the wall, allowing much sunlight to stream through. Breakaway's optics compensated for the change in lighting conditions.

With a smile he took a closer look at the "suppression rifle", thinking that he could get to like this new weapon. The Surgeon seemed excited, primarily because one of his pet projects had just worked out.

"Yes! I knew it would work!" He exclaimed joyfully, "I thought…well, I thought that the energy would become too much and you would explode…but well, I guess things have worked out just the way I had been hoping they would!"

"Anything else I should know about?" Breakaway asked. He was curious to hear what other modifications he had received from the Surgeon, even if the small Decepticon had the capacity to annoy him with its sheer presence.

"Well, I have made adjustments to the workings of your vehicle mode…You can now travel at twenty percent faster than your previous maximum speed, putting you on a match with Slipstream."

Breakaway exchanged glances with the female Seeker. She knew what he was going to say and so beat him to it.

"I'm sure we could go on a race, Breakaway," she said.

"That would be fun," Breakaway replied, simply because he could not really think of anything else to say. The thought of racing Slipstream did excite him though.

"As I mentioned before the procedure, your optical systems are now twenty-five percent better than the ones you had previously," the Surgeon continued, "Those Autobot optics you had before…they were obsolete. The ones I gave you now are the newest in Decepticon replacements."

There was a voice at the back of Breakaway's mind, one that was faint but surprisingly fierce in its opinion of what was going on: _No, Breakaway, this is all wrong! You're not like this!_ For a moment Breakaway thought it was Chromia talking to him, perhaps through his communications systems…but it took him only a few minutes to determine otherwise. Chromia was not speaking to him (unsurprisingly) and instead this faint voice was merely some part of his mind, one that seemed to be taking on his former mate's voice in order to try and talk some sense into him. Breakaway did not think much of it though, especially since it seemed that it was Chromia speaking in his mind and not someone he would have listened to.

_Think about what you are doing,_ the voice said, almost pleadingly, _You're becoming just like them: You're becoming no better than a Decepticon._

Then it was Ironhide's voice, gruff and no-nonsense as it usually was. Breakaway was surprised to hear Ironhide's voice, primarily because Ironhide was actually dead, having been killed by Centurion a few days earlier.

_Another Seeker goes to the Decepticons,_ Ironhide said, _Why am I not surprised?_

Seekers were always going to the Decepticons. How Breakaway had stayed with the Autobots as long as he had he could not work out…All of the others he had known, the ones like him, had joined Megatron's forces sooner or later. It had been because of Breakaway's Seeker status that he had been considered as the prime candidate to go on the undercover mission to infiltrate Centurion's ranks. A Seeker switching sides to the Decepticons was a surprisingly common occurrence…at least, it had been during the days of the war on Cybertron. Now there were barely any Seekers left save for him, Starscream and whatever other ones were working for the Decepticons. In fact, Breakaway had reason to believe that he had been the last Autobot Seeker. Such a thing he cared little about, especially now with a new life ahead of him. He had been reborn and this time he was much better than he had ever been. He felt like he could take on Centurion by himself…and with Slipstream by his side this might not actually be all that difficult to do.

_It was only a matter of time, Breakaway._ Ironhide's voice again, this time it was surprisingly clear. In fact, Breakaway could have sworn that Ironhide was in this warehouse…A quick glance ahead revealed that this was indeed the case. Strangely enough, neither Slipstream nor the Surgeon seemed to notice.

_I knew you'd turn soon enough,_ Ironhide said.

"Go away," Breakaway replied, his tone stern. For some reason he felt a growing unease, as if the presence of a dead Autobot was beginning to get to him. Why it most certainly was…

Slipstream frowned, looking at where Breakaway was facing before returning her gaze to him.

"Who are you talking to, Breakaway?" Slipstream asked.

_Too bad you've gone insane as well,_ Ironhide continued. He laughed a good, long hearty laugh. Breakaway felt rage building inside of him, a rage that threatened to boil over at any moment.

_You're crazy, _Ironhide said. He smiled, perhaps the first time he had ever done so. _And I'm just a figment of your imagination. Too bad you think I'm real, huh?_

Breakaway remained silent, even as he pointed his new rifle towards the annoying Ironhide. Ironhide, rather than look worried, simply started laughing. He continued to laugh even as Breakaway fired the weapon, the beam passing straight through Ironhide and connecting with the wall beyond. Ironhide disappeared just as the blast shot forth, blowing a large chunk out of the wall behind.

Insane? Was he really insane? Breakaway stood up, looking at Slipstream who seemed very surprised at his actions. However, she seemed to think little of it as she stepped forwards and put her head close to his. It did not take much for her to create a private mental link to him, performing the Cybertronian equivalent of a whispered conversation that only they could hear.

_You and I,_ she said seductively, _Outside._

_What about the Surgeon?_ Breakaway asked. The idea of interfacing with Slipstream again was already exciting him. The Surgeon, though…He needed to be dealt with. Slipstream did not have a chance to reply since the Surgeon interrupted the conversation.

"What are you two doing?" The Surgeon said, as if realizing that he was being talked about, "Breakaway, I still have things to tell you…"  
Breakaway turned around, having already forgotten his encounter with the imaginative Ironhide. Whatever it had been about, Breakaway was sure he could deal with it. No need to tell Slipstream or anyone else about his mental instabilities…

"My cannon," Breakaway said, "The one on my left arm: is it the same as it was before?"

"No, it's better!" The Surgeon said, sounding quite proud of his handiwork on Breakaway, "It's far more powerful, as well as being energy based…"

"So, if I were to shoot something enough times it would be reduced to nothing but ash?" Breakaway asked. He liked the sound of what he was suggesting, since incinerating targets had always fascinated him.

"Why, I guess it could…" The Surgeon replied, taking a moment to think a little further on the matter. "Although it all depends on the size of the target. What kind of target are you thinking of shooting?"

It took Breakaway only a moment to transform his right arm back into its usual form. His left arm became his secondary weapon, a rapid-fire cannon that he had always set on the "three round burst" setting. With his new, modified body it was a little bulkier and its barrel glowed a blue-white colour.

"Nothing too big," Breakaway said. He blasted the Surgeon, the three blue-white blasts slamming into the front of the small Decepticon. The Surgeon's head disappeared, reduced to nothing but smouldering pieces. The rest of his body crumpled to the floor lifelessly.

Breakaway turned around to look at Slipstream. She smiled and he smiled back.

"I never really liked him," Slipstream said. She looked at Breakaway's new form, obviously rather interested in it. "And concerning your new look…I have to say, I like it. A lot."

"As you were saying," Breakaway said, stepping out through a large gap in the wall of the warehouse which had been made earlier to allow them entry, "The two of us. Outside."  
The sand was warm under his feet and the sun was hot, with only a few wispy clouds high up in the sky. A gentle breeze billowed past while a passenger jet soared up high, appearing as nothing but a faint speck leaving a lengthy white contrail. The thought of flying again excited him but this could wait until after he and Slipstream had enjoyed themselves again.

Slipstream followed him outside, grabbing hold of him from behind. She was ferocious, Breakaway had to give her that. She was also determined, more determined than anyone else Breakaway knew. She wanted her plan to succeed and she would do anything to ensure its success.

_This is all wrong, Breakaway!_ It was Chromia's voice again. _This isn't like you…Think about what you are doing!  
_Breakaway quelled this unruly voice in his mind, concentrating solely on Slipstream. If he was going crazy he may as well enjoy himself while it happened. He certainly was not going to pay any attention to voices in his head. If he started doing that he would certainly start going insane. However, there was the faint inkling that something was wrong, that maybe Chromia's voice was right…that maybe he was not acting like himself, as if he was being influenced…

"Is there something on your mind, Breakaway?" Slipstream asked, pausing before him. She had been about to grab hold of him in her usually firm grip but now she seemed hesitant, as if sensing Breakaway's uncertainty.

"No, there isn't," Breakaway replied. His cooling fans had gone into overdrive now and he simply smiled towards Slipstream in a reassuring manner.

"Good," Slipstream said, "The last thing I want is for my Breakaway to begin doubting his part in everything…" She put a hand to his face, caressed his features and stared deeply into his eyes. Breakaway could see the determined fury in her optics, the red optics gleaming brightly in the desert sunlight.

"We have a brilliant future ahead of us," she said, "I want you to remember this whenever there is doubt in your mind. That no matter what happens, we're doing what we're doing to ensure our future together."

"Ruling over Earth…It sounds like a decent future," Breakaway said, "I never really did like the humans."

"Not only that, Breakaway," Slipstream replied, "But we'll get power beyond our wildest dreams…"

"Enough with the talking," Breakaway said. He leaned forward, put his arms around her and brought her close. She did not struggle and rather enjoyed the intimacy. For the first time in a long time, Breakaway genuinely felt wanted. This would have all been well and good had it not been for the uncertainty in his mind, that faint inkling that there was something wrong with what was happening. Not only that, but maybe the Ironhide he had dreamed up earlier had been correct: he was going insane. He did not know much about insanity but if it was happening to him he may as well try his best to enjoy it.

* * *

Some time later, as the pair regained their composures and stood up outside the old desert warehouse, Breakaway's thoughts were suddenly interrupted by a familiar voice. Slipstream did not seem to notice Breakaway's sudden loss of concentration as she spoke about what they would do next. According to her, there was plenty of time for that race they had decided to carry out earlier.

"_This is Optimus Prime, broadcasting on lower band frequencies. Breakaway, are you there? Can you hear me?"_

Slipstream was not receiving the communication from the Autobot leader and so remained oblivious to it. Breakaway, however, could hear it quite clearly. Optimus' voice hissed with static but somehow, Breakaway did not know how, but Optimus had made contact with him. This was something that Breakaway would need to rectify immediately since he could not let Optimus discover what was happening. If Optimus determined that Breakaway was still alive then no doubt he would send someone to investigate. It would be best if he thought that Breakaway was dead.

"Breakaway, I have to say…That was amazing," Slipstream said, almost uncharacteristically sheepishly. She frowned at Breakaway's lack of response, noticing immediately that there was something on his mind.

Breakaway was at a loss on what to do about Optimus contacting him. Should he simply let the Autobot leader continue to talk or should he shut off his communications systems. The latter option would be detected by Optimus and thus incite him to investigate further, perhaps not by himself but he would most likely send another of the Autobots to check it out. It was obvious he did have some inkling that Breakaway was still alive, otherwise he would not have bothered trying to make contact.

"_Breakaway, are you there? I can only just detect you…"_

"What's going on?" Slipstream asked. Breakaway looked towards her, silent for a moment since he could not determine what to say to her about it.

"Uh…It's Optimus. He's made contact…"

"Optimus Prime?" Slipstream seemed annoyed.

"Yes," Breakaway replied.

"Shut off your long range communications systems," Slipstream said. She delivered it as more of an order than a statement, her gaze going cold as she said it. Breakaway felt immediately anxious and so did as he was told.

"He'll know I'm alive now," he said as his long range communications systems shut down, cutting Optimus' voice off in mid-sentence. In response to this statement, Slipstream simply shrugged. She did not seem very concerned about this.

"So what?" She asked, "What is the Prime going to do? If he sends someone to investigate, we'll just have to kill them." She paused, raising a metal eyebrow ridge. "I'm sure you won't have any trouble in killing an Autobot, would you Breakaway?"

Breakaway nodded. He was not an Autobot, nor was he a Decepticon…He was independent from either of them, as was Slipstream. He did not need to be in either of these two sides, as Slipstream had told him. They could be their own faction, one that would get rid of all who opposed them.

"That's good to know," she replied, satisfied with Breakaway's answer. She stood up straight, brushed some of the sand off of her frame and took a look around. Desert went on as far as their optics could see, with mesas and narrower buttes jutting out of the landscape here and there. Small desert shrubs were scattered while the old highway the two Cybertronians were near winded off into the distance. A sign was nearby, one that was weathered with wear and tear over the years of it having been in place: DEATH VALLEY—25 MILES; TRANQUILITY—90 MILES; LAS VEGAS—180 MILES.

"We want to go to Tranquility," Slipstream said, noticing Breakaway's interest in the sign.

"Why?" Breakaway asked, almost absently.

"That's where my father is," Slipstream said, "And, if we want our plan to succeed, we need to regroup with him."

Breakaway nodded. He had almost forgotten about the part of the plan which involved regrouping with Centurion. Tranquility, Nevada…He remembered that town as the one where someone called "Sam Witwicky" lived. He also remembered it as the place where Megatron and Starscream had apparently been going to as well. They were probably there by now, delivering whatever item Centurion had sent them to go and get…unless, of course, the pair had failed to get it.

"Would he still want to torture me?" Breakaway asked. The idea of getting tortured did not really frighten him as much as it had earlier. Rather, he was feeling quite prepared for it.

Slipstream shrugged again.

"Maybe, maybe not," she said, "But, whatever happens, we must go along with what he tells us to do, no matter what those orders entail. I will tell you when we strike against him and I can safely say that the time for that is not near enough."

"When will it be that time?" Breakaway asked. He still was not too sure of the specifics of Slipstream's plan but he could be certain that she would tell him what to do when it was needed to be done. She seemed to have everything planned out…

"Not for a while yet," Slipstream said, "But it is not too far away, that is for sure."


	7. Disturbances

**Disturbances  
**Tranquility, Nevada  
December 16th, 2010

How late were they? Well, Colonel Francis Weller had been hoping to arrive on the scene of a battle between some Autobots and Decepticons, thus he could then be able to take advantage of the confusion of battle and get the Matrix of Leadership. Unfortunately, as he and Farnell arrived outside a rather damaged warehouse on the outskirts of town, there seemed to be little sign of any raging battles.

The rain came down at a steady rate, no longer pouring as it had been earlier. It was still heavier than a light shower though and there seemed to be no ceasing of it anytime soon, with the thick grey clouds above remaining where they were. Today was certainly a miserable day in Tranquility, Nevada.

Weller was seated in the passenger seat of the SUV, the tracking device on the floor near his feet while the spearhead that was the Spear of Destiny was stored in a lead-lined box which was sitting on the back seat. Captain Xander Farnell was driving, halting the black SUV on the street outside of the warehouse. In a place such as this there were no pedestrians since the majority of buildings here were abandoned, left to erode away with years of disuse.

Colonel Weller frowned at the lack of any evidence of a fight here at this warehouse. He took up the tracking device, eyed the screen on it carefully and scratched at his chin. There were supposed to be Cybertronians here since there were five currently showing up on the device, all of which were inside the warehouse. Farnell seemed to notice the lack of evidence of Cybertronians here and so turned to look at the Colonel, shrugging.

"It doesn't look like there's anyone here…"

"They're here," Weller said, setting down the tracking device. What they were after was inside the warehouse and so he and Farnell would have to go inside. How they would go about this in a way where they would not be shot at was uncertain, but Weller was confident that he would come up with something. Stealth seemed to be the best option, even if he would have preferred a more direct approach. However, even he knew the risks of a direct approach when there were Decepticons involved.

Using one hand he pulled open the glove box, removing the Ingram MAC 10 submachine gun that lay inside. He took it up in his right hand and casually screwed a suppressor on the end of the weapon's barrel. There was no use in delaying, he figured. The Matrix of Leadership, something that was required for the Spear of Destiny to work, was inside that warehouse along with five Cybertronians. What they were all doing at this warehouse was beyond him but he was certain that there was a good reason for it.

Farnell watched him carefully, as if uncertain as to why the Colonel was preparing now.

"We're going inside?" He asked, practically wide-eyed. Weller shrugged, not at all concerned about the safety of this approach.

"Yeah, we are," Weller replied as he pushed open his side's door. He was hit by a cold breeze from outside, the smell of rainwater finding its way into his nostrils. The pavement was slicked with water and the drains struggled to cope, with large torrents of water flowing along the gutters while more spilled forth from the drains. It seemed that Tranquility had not had this much rain for a long time. Weller took a guess that climate change had something to do with it.

Farnell emerged from the SUV, looking around cautiously. Weller faced the warehouse, trying to determine a practical way inside. Nearby, he could hear metallic sounding groans, as if something was in great pain…something that was not human. Immediately Weller had his submachine gun at the ready while Farnell looked understandably ill at ease.

"I think this is a bad idea," Farnell said.

Weller was about to reply when he heard shouts from up ahead. Both he and Farnell shifted their gazes to the muddy yard to the left of the warehouse, catching a glimpse of a trio of three humans as they raced out of one of the warehouse's side doors. Weller raised his submachine gun but decided against opening fire, especially when the Autobot crashed through the wall of the warehouse. He recognized this Autobot as the one named "Deadeye", the very one that had been recovered from Holland days before only to escape from Sector Eight headquarters in New Mexico.

The Colonel had to contain his anger at seeing this Autobot again, otherwise he might have started shooting then and there. He watched as Deadeye changed into his vehicle mode, a four door red luxury car. Weller knew he had little time to react, so he turned to Farnell and delivered the order sternly and abruptly.

"Farnell, get me the binoculars," Weller replied.

"What?"

_"Get me the fucking binoculars!"_ Weller shouted. The three humans were getting into the car now so Weller knew he would have to react quickly. He needed to identify those three before they got away since they were potential threats. From this distance he could tell that two were African-American and one of them Caucasian but he could not determine facial features very clearly.

Farnell took the binoculars from inside the SUV and handed them to Weller. Colonel Weller snatched them from the Captain's hands and put them up to his eyes, zooming in appropriately in order to look at the three humans as they entered the Autobot car.

When he saw who they were he frowned, more in a way of deep thought rather than annoyance. He recognized two of them while one of them was someone he had never seen before. It seemed logical now, how these two were involved. It all stemmed from what had happened a few days earlier, where Deadeye had escaped Sector Eight headquarters in New Mexico. It would not have taken much for Deadeye to get from New Mexico to Tranquility, Nevada. How they had missed this Autobot as he made his way across a couple of state borders was unknown but Weller guessed that Deadeye had effective means of remaining undetected.

"James Turner and Sam Witwicky," Weller said aloud, taking the binoculars down from his eyes, "As well as some random black guy I've never seen before."

"Who?" Farnell asked.

Weller turned around to face his subordinate, narrowing his gaze. Was Farnell going deaf or was he just not listening? Regardless, Weller was beginning to get annoyed at the Captain's lack of paying attention to what he was saying.

"Damn it, Captain, pay attention!" Weller exclaimed. Nearby, Deadeye and the humans made good their escape…from what, exactly, Weller did not know.

"James Turner, that priest we've run into a few times," Weller said, "He was there. You know him, don't you?"

Farnell nodded.

"He has a habit of interfering with our schemes," Weller continued, remembering the few run-ins they had had with the priest, "First Mission City, then Shanghai, then Egypt…And now he's here in Tranquility, Nevada with that Autobot…Deadeye his name is. The one that escaped from our base in New Mexico a few days back, don't you remember?"

Farnell nodded again. Weller did not see much point in telling Farnell about all of this, especially since he would just have to tell all the other Sector Eight personnel once they arrived in town. Farnell would probably just forget what he had been told anyway.

"And Sam Witwicky's with him," Weller added. He spoke the name through clenched teeth, primarily because thinking about Sam Witwicky had the tendency to anger him. Sam was the very one person who had lead to Sector Seven's disbandment and had effectively ruined Weller's life as a result of this…until Weller was put in charge of Sector Eight. Still, Weller could feel some satisfaction knowing that vengeance was now quite within his grasp.

"Sam Witwicky?" Farnell frowned. "He's with the priest and that Autobot?"

"You bet," Weller replied. He pulled open the passenger side's door again, taking up the tracking device in order to take a look at the screen again. The changes he saw on it intrigued him and the implications…well, Weller was not entirely sure of the implications. He knew they were interesting implications but he was not quite sure what they would consist of.

"If this thing's working properly," Weller said, picking up the tracking device, "And I'm pretty sure it _is_ working properly…" As if to make sure he gave the device a sharp slap on the side. Nothing on the display changed.

"According to this, the Matrix of Leadership is with Sam and his friends," Weller said, "Which means that either he, James or that other guy I saw have it. Maybe even that Autobot, Deadeye, has it. There's no way of knowing."

There was a pause as Weller set the device back down onto the floor of the car before closing the door again. He took a look down the road he had seen the Autobot and the three humans escape down before shifting his gaze back to the warehouse. If he was not hearing things wrong (and he did not think he was) then there were voices coming from within the warehouse.

"Shouldn't we be chasing Sam Witwicky then?" Farnell asked. Rather than reply, Weller held up a hand in order to signal Farnell to be quiet. The Captain fell silent and watched as Weller started towards the warehouse, unsure of just what his superior was doing. Farnell knew better than to not follow and so walked a few paces behind Weller, unsure of what he should be doing.

"We have plenty of time," Weller whispered in response as they neared the front entrance of the warehouse. He knew better than to go in through the front so he started along the front end, rounding a corner onto a muddy yard littered with assorted junk. Ahead he could see a rather large hole had been smashed through the warehouse from inside, leaving large chunks of brick-work and metal sheets littering the ground. There was no doubt in the Colonel's mind that something suitably large had crashed through this wall before leaving a few large dents in the muddied ground.

Whatever was going on inside the warehouse, Colonel Weller was quite interested to determine it exactly. He could hear the voices clearer now, taking note of the deep and inhuman nature of it. From the sound of what he could hear, it seemed that the more menacing voice was asking a hell of a lot of questions. The other voice, a more human-sounding but still noticeably metallic one, did its best to reply.

"We're not going to go inside, are we?" Farnell whispered as he and the Colonel neared the hole blasted through the wall. Weller once again signalled the Captain to be silent. The two of them crouched amongst the rubble, looking into the warehouse at the mess of destroyed machinery and fallen shelving units inside.

Starscream sat in the far corner, his head in his hands. Weller did not know what to make of this, thinking that Starscream was suitably brooding for a Decepticon…at least, this was what he thought until Starscream took his hands away from his face. This act revealed that both of the Decepticon's eyes were gone, along with the right half of his face. Starscream was upset because he could not see. However, this was the least of Weller's interests at the moment.

Towards the centre of the warehouse sat Megatron, a large dent in one side of his head. He seemed to be having trouble moving and so sat against one wall, almost entirely still. Whatever had happened in the last half hour had left two of the leading Decepticons crippled, a fact that Weller was not sure on how to react to. Should he be happy that these two Decepticons had been effectively neutralized? He was not sure, especially when he saw that the more dangerous one, Centurion, was still well and alive and standing in the centre of the warehouse.

Centurion stood in an intimidating fashion over an Autobot, one that was mostly a dull grey and blue in colour. This Autobot was wounded quite severely, with a few large gashes torn into his front. Blue-white energon fluid leaked out and judging by the slight writhing movements, the Autobot was in great pain.

"Looks like an interrogation," Farnell whispered. Again, Weller signalled him to be silent. There was no telling how sensitive the hearing was on these Cybertronians…one false step and the pair would be discovered. Even Weller did not fancy his chances against Centurion. If he was correct, Centurion had an impenetrable shield enveloping his frame.

Weller contemplated whether it was really worth watching this interrogation unfold. From what he could tell, the Autobot being questioned had little time left as it slowly bled out. Chances are Centurion would finish it off, just for the hell of it. And while Weller and Farnell watched, Sam Witwicky was getting further away…but Weller was quite confident that they could work something out when it came to getting the Matrix of Leadership. He was already thinking: they could capture Sam and the priest, or even better he could get a hold of someone close to Sam, maybe use this person against him…Weller did want revenge, even if it would not change anything. He simply wanted revenge just because he wanted it. There was no real reason why, he just wanted to see it through. He could not let Sam get away, not like he had back in 2007.

"So, Depthcharge, tell me: Where is Sam Witwicky heading now?" Centurion asked, leering over the Autobot (whose name Weller assumed was Depthcharge, judging from what Centurion had just said).

So Centurion wanted Sam as well? For what reason? It must have had something to do with the Matrix of Leadership, there was no question about it. Weller knew now that he might be better off waiting here, if only to overhear whatever Depthcharge had to say, whether it was useful information or not.

"I don't see why you want him," Depthcharge said weakly.

"You know exactly why I want him," Centurion replied, his voice developing a more impatient sounding tone. "You saw what happened: He held the Matrix and it was destroyed. As a result, the energy within the Matrix would have wanted to save itself and thus would have needed another vessel to carry itself within. A human body is as good as any vessel…"

Weller was intrigued. The energy within the Matrix of Leadership had been transferred into Sam Witwicky's body? But that meant...He exchanged glances with Farnell. They were both thinking the same thing: that the Matrix of Leadership was no longer what they were after. No, what they were after now was Sam Witwicky himself.

"I think we should get after Sam, sir," Farnell whispered, "He could get picked up by NEST…If that happens, we'll never be able to get him."

Weller smiled. He had suddenly had an excellent plan, one that was practically foolproof.

"Head back to the car, Captain," Weller said, turning around to face his subordinate, "I want you to leave the engine running, just in case we have to get out of here quickly."

Farnell nodded, slowly and carefully. He stood up and walked away, leaving him to return his attention back to the interrogation taking place inside the warehouse. Colonel Weller felt quite pleased with himself, since it appeared that everything was coming together. He had come up with a masterful scheme and there was little chance of anything going horribly wrong with it. In the meantime, he could sit back and enjoy the interrogation taking place before him.

If Sam Witwicky had had the energy from the Matrix of Leadership transferred into his body then that would mean he could do everything the Matrix could. That would mean that Weller needed him to provide power to the Spear. Sure, it was an extra complication to the whole thing but at least Weller would be able to get his revenge.

Weller watched as Centurion leered over the Autobot known as Depthcharge, a rather impatient scowl pressed across his metallic features. He was bearing his teeth, a set of jagged metal things that glinted harshly in the light from the fixtures set in the warehouse's ceiling.

"I ask you again, Depthcharge: Where is Sam Witwicky going?" Centurion asked.

"I don't know," Depthcharge replied, mustering up his last reserves of strength in order to kneel straighter and less hunched over. He seemed to sigh, if robots could do that (Weller was not sure). Depthcharge shook his head, as if resigned to whatever fate Centurion had in store for him.

"You can track Sam, can't you?" Depthcharge asked, "You're just questioning me for the fun of it…"

Centurion smiled when Depthcharge said this. He leaned forwards and his right arm transformed into a long, jagged razor sharp blade. Depthcharge's gaze went to it briefly. He did not seem to think much of it, instead keeping his gaze directed up at Centurion.

"I'm not scared of you," Depthcharge said. His voice sounded a little weak, as if his strength was gradually diminishing. Judging from all the energon fluid that was seeping out of his wounds, Weller doubted that Depthcharge would last much longer.

"Maybe not on the outside, but within you there is a fear greater than any other," Centurion said. He put the razor edge of his sword against the right-hand side of Depthcharge's neck. The Autobot tilted his head away from it, keeping his gaze up towards Centurion.

_All I need to complete this moment is some popcorn,_ Weller thought absently. He smiled, briefly glancing over at where Megatron sat motionless and then at where Starscream sat blinded. Neither Decepticon seemed to be in any state to try anything, leaving Centurion to do what he wanted without hassle.

"This fear is the fear of death," Centurion continued, his voice taking on a far more menacing tone. There seemed to be a slight faltering in Depthcharge's rigid stance, as if realizing for the first time the full extent of the situation he was in.

"We all have it, Depthcharge," Centurion said, "Although I can personally say that death does not scare me much, if not at all. To make me as strong as I am now, Unicron had to kill me before I was reborn. I have already experienced death. You, however, have not. It just so happens that I am generous enough to let you experience it before most others."

Centurion brought the sword back, preparing for the finishing move. Weller watched, his expression one of neutrality. He did not care if this Autobot died for he believed that the Autobots were just as responsible for bringing trouble to Earth as the Decepticons were. One more dead Autobot was just going to make the goal of removing all Cybertronians from Earth a little bit easier.

Depthcharge's gaze went down a little and for a moment those bright blue optics were staring in Weller's direction. Colonel Weller felt his heart skip a beat and he could not help but to return Depthcharge's gaze. There seemed to be a silent understanding between the two, that Weller would not intervene. Weller was not even considering on intervening, especially if it was to save an Autobot's life. Still, he did shake his head, just to communicate his lack of action to Depthcharge. The Autobot could die for all he cared.

There was a loud, metallic _shing!_ sound. Centurion's movements were over in the blink of an eye. Weller had glimpsed the finishing follow through before he had watched as Depthcharge's rigid gaze went noticeably lifeless. The bright blue glow in his optics died and Depthcharge's head fell right off of his shoulders, falling to the floor with a loud _clunk!_ The rest of Depthcharge's body crumpled onto the floor, dead.

Centurion took a moment to survey his handiwork before reverting his right arm from its sword form and back into its normal form. He turned around, gazing at Megatron and then at Starscream.

"Megatron," He said simply. He took a step towards the crippled Decepticon, standing over him in a rather gloating manner. "Megatron, can you hear me?"

There was only the faintest of movements from Megatron: it was a mere turning of the head and it was only slight, as if Megatron could not get his body to move much further.

"I'll take your silence as a 'yes'," Centurion said. There was a momentary pause before he continued. "I'm sure you overheard all of that, didn't you? That Sam Witwicky is our goal. Without him, we cannot raise that army we've always wanted."

Weller slipped on a piece of loose masonry. The subsequent sound it made as it tumbled down the pile of rubble he was crouched behind was loud enough for all three of the Decepticons within the warehouse to overhear. Centurion's gaze went straight to Weller's direction and the Decepticon's metallic features contorted into a hateful scowl.

Colonel Weller had little time to react. Centurion had started pacing towards him, having seen the human crouched amongst the rubble. Weller remained calm, knowing full well that panicking would not be in his best interests. He stood up and started pacing backwards, stepping off of the rubble and onto soft muddy earth. At the same time he raised his suppressed Ingram MAC 10 submachine gun, pulling the trigger once his aim was good. The weapon sprayed .45 rounds all over Centurion's front, each round flying out with a faint _phut _sound. Each bullet impacted Centurion's shield and ricocheted off of it before colliding with an entirely different object.

"Shit," Weller muttered. Centurion stopped in the large hole that had been in the side of the warehouse earlier and looked down at the human, regarding him briefly with a rather condescending scare. To Centurion, Weller was nothing more than a pest, one that was to be exterminated.

"What's going on?" Starscream shouted from within the warehouse, looking around stupidly. Without eyes he could do little else but remain stationary, listening for anything that might have been out of the ordinary.

Centurion's left arm folded itself into some sort of energy-based cannon, one that was large enough to blow rather big holes in things. Weller turned around and started running to where Farnell was waiting in the SUV, occasionally swivelling around as he went to fire a few more rounds at Centurion (but such an act was fruitless).

Captain Farnell saw Weller coming and appropriately opened the passenger side door. Weller climbed in and shut the door, taking a moment to regain his breath as he held down the button that lowered his side's window.

"Floor it," Weller ordered and Farnell did just this, pressing his foot down hard upon the accelerator. The SUV lurched forwards before skidding across the rain slicked road. Behind them, Centurion raised his cannon and fired.

A blast of blue-white energy collided with the side of the road ahead, a column of flame exploding upwards. Chunks of blacktop and dirt showered down over the SUV, peppering the windshield while faint traces of flame blasted across the glass.

Weller stuck his head out of the window as Farnell swerved to avoid the explosion. The Colonel levelled his submachine gun, opening fire at Centurion who was some distance behind. Centurion remained completely unaffected by the bullets but for some odd reason he did not return fire. Instead, he turned around and headed back into the warehouse, leaving the pair of humans in the fleeing SUVs to live to see another day.

Weller frowned, confused as to why Centurion had not given chase. He sat back down inside the SUV, leaving his Ingram submachine gun on his lap as he looked towards Farnell. The Captain was breath quickly, his eyes wide as he swerved and skidded along the rain slicked roads ahead.

"Captain!" Weller shouted, placing a firm hand on the Captain's shoulder. Farnell glanced at him, still noticeably frightened.

"You can slow down," Weller said, "The last thing we need is to crash or get pulled over by the cops. So come on, son, slow down."

Farnell relaxed, slowing the SUV down to a far more legal speed. Weller could relax as well, now safe with the knowledge that he was not going to suffer through an automobile accident.

"Well, Captain," Colonel Weller said, glancing in the rear view mirror as he spoke. The warehouse was a long way behind them now, although it seemed that there were others headed to investigate the explosions that had occurred: about two police cars, both speeding and both with their sirens on, sped past the SUV while heading in the direction of the warehouse. Those cops were going to be in for one heck of a surprise when they arrived at their destination, Weller thought with a slight grin.

"Looks like we need to get Sam Witwicky," Weller said.


	8. Transformation

**Transformation  
**A few miles outside of Tranquility, Nevada  
December 16th, 2010

Sam Witwicky had regained consciousness about ten minutes ago, just in time to witness as Deadeye took him, James and Jones out of Tranquility. In a way it was a relief to finally have some distance between him and Centurion, especially after what had happened in the warehouse. Megatron had been effectively crippled and Starscream had been blinded, leaving Centurion as the unchallenged leader of the Decepticons. Perhaps, if Centurion was not the unstoppable foe he was, such an occurrence (with Megatron and Starscream being neutralized) might have been worthy of a cheer or two. However, with Centurion unchallenged he was now free to wreak havoc on whatever he pleased. He had been wreaking enough havoc already and he was certainly going to come after Sam, this was something the human was already thinking. He would come after Sam, perhaps for the fun of it or perhaps because of the unpleasant changes happening to the human.

Sam was seated in the passenger seat of Deadeye's vehicle mode. Outside the skies were still quite grey and dreary but the rain had stopped. There were blue skies some distance away on the desert horizon, hinting that maybe such gloomy weather would be gone in a few hours. It had certainly come without warning, pouring rain down upon Tranquility at the most inopportune time.

James Turner sat in the driver's seat, hands off of the steering wheel since it was not him that was driving. Rather, Deadeye was driving himself, taking the humans within his vehicle mode out of Tranquility and onto a desert highway. They were headed to Las Vegas to meet ex-Sector Seven Agent Simmons. Obviously Simmons had been rewarded for his "heroic" actions during the battle in Egypt which would explain why he was now spending time in Las Vegas. How Simmons could help was unknown to Sam, although James seemed quite certain that Simmons would be able to aid them.

Jones Marshall had not said much since the battle at the church when Bumblebee had been slain. Instead, he had been seated in the back-seat whilst remaining silent, trying his best to think through all that had happened today. It had only been hours ago that he had been introduced to Cybertronians and he seemed the type of person who would have trouble accepting their existence. Shape-shifting robots? Why, it sounded like something out of a science fiction film.

Sam remembered what had happened at the warehouse and how the Matrix of Leadership had exploded in his right hand. The pain had been incredible, more than enough to make him pass out (and he had done so mere minutes after the battle had finished). If his memory of what had happened was correct, then it appeared that Centurion had fired at him when Sam had grabbed the Matrix. The shot had grazed the Matrix and the ancient Cybertronian artefact had promptly exploded in Sam's right hand. Immediately afterwards Sam's hand and forearm had been burnt and mangled, covered with blisters and nasty burns. Looking at his right arm now, it appeared that much had changed.

Gone were the burns and blistered skin. Where Sam's arm had suffered a compound fracture, the piece of bone that had been poking out near his elbow was gone. In fact, his whole forearm was "gone": instead it had been replaced by a noticeably metal, indented and segmented sort of arm, one that reminded much of the arm of an ordinary Cybertronian. The skin of his right forearm had been replaced with hard but flexible metal that shined a dull silver-grey colour. The elbow where the compound fracture had been had strangely healed over, replaced with Cybertronian-esque metal. He could move his arm as well as he used to but the pain…the pain was something else entirely. No longer was it the stinging, burning pain of second-degree burns. Now it was a dull throbbing pain that seemed to be occurring within the arm itself, sending a sharp stinging throb right through his bones. As he moved the arm he heard a series of sharp cracks, as if the bones within the arm were being broken. The pain remained, throbbing and stinging its way through his arm as he moved it. His fingers were segmented, sort of like those of a Cybertronian hand. He could move them as well as he had always been able to. Silver-grey plating had begun to develop over a black under-layer.

Where the transformation ended just past his elbow, it seemed to be spreading. Grey metallic splotches had already started up the rest of his arm and they stung painfully to the touch. He put his left hand (his human one) to his face and felt along the right cheek, able to feel a few faint metal splotches. There was a burning sensation in his chest, worse than any case of heartburn he had ever had. If he was not mistaken it seemed that the transformation was overtaking his physical form quite quickly. He needed help, he knew this much. But who would help him?

Sam Witwicky could not help but widen his eyes as he held up his changing right arm, flexing the metal fingers at his right hand. James seemed to be watching him, his gaze narrowed as Sam felt along the ridges on his hand with the fingers of his still human left hand. Sam found a slight catch at the silver armour-like layer of his right hand and pulled. There was a brief instance of cringe-worthy pain and Sam saw, with distinct horror, what appeared to be a few thin glowing blue veins underneath. They were not "veins" in the sense that humans would use the word. No, they were "energon lines", transferring the much needed energon fluid throughout the body.

"That is disgusting," James commented. There was a pause as Sam watched the energon flow through the tendril-like tube, trying to weigh up the implications of what was happening to him in his mind. What did this all mean? What was happening to him? Would it stop at his arm or would it overtake his whole body…

"Ratchet…He would know," Sam said. His throat hurt as he spoke but he did his best to ignore it. His voice broke with fear of what was happening to him. He swallowed and decided to keep a straight face, regardless of the overwhelming fear that threatened to overtake him. He needed to be strong…he _wanted_ to be strong…

"Ratchet? Who's that?" James asked.

"He's the Autobot medic…He would know what's happening to me. He might be able to stop it…I think." Sam could hear the doubt in his own voice. He would not be at all surprised if there was no way to stop this. Even if there was, how would they be able to find Ratchet in time to fix him?

Sam's right arm felt understandably heavier than it should. A nauseating feeling overtook him so without delay he held down the button to open his side's window, bringing it down about halfway in order to let in some fresh air. It did not seem to be helping his situation though and instead he felt more ill with each passing minute.

"Do you know where to find this Ratchet guy?" James asked, "Or do we keep heading to Vegas?"

"Simmons would probably know how to get in touch with Ratchet," Sam replied, "We find him first." Was the world spinning around him or was it just him? He needed to get out soon…he thought he could do with some painkillers, if only to dull the pain he could feel in his right arm. Where the hell could he get painkillers?

"Do you think it has something to do with that shiny thing that exploded in your hand?" James asked.

Sam looked towards the priest. Strangely enough, the man's head seemed to be pulsating. Then again, so was the rest of the world around him. And then there was that voice, the one Sam had only heard in recent dreams and nightmares…

"**If you help me,"** the voice said, its tone stern and quite authoritative, **"There will be rewards in it for you. Power beyond your wildest dreams…"**

The voice grew strangely distant before fading altogether. Sam's head still spun and that nauseating feeling inside him continued to grow. James seemed to be frowning, concerned for his wellbeing. Hell, Sam barely knew the man since they had only met today.

"The shiny thing?" Sam said. He coughed and funnily enough it was not mere spittle that flew out of his mouth. Rather, he felt something light but hard hit the hand he had put over his mouth to shield those around him from the cough. It fell into his lap and Sam looked down, using his left hand to pick it up. His heart skipped a beat when he saw what it was: It was a tooth, one of his back molars. It seemed to be in perfect condition but why it had fallen out…Well, he could not be certain. Using his tongue he felt the gap it had left in his mouth. Strangely enough, there was no pain.

"Yes, I believe this 'shiny thing' was called the 'Matrix of Leadership'," James continued, not noticing the tooth as he returned his gaze towards what was through the front windscreen.

"Oh…Yeah, well maybe it was something to do with that, I don't know for sure," Sam replied. He dropped the tooth out of the open window next to him. What else could he have done with it?

"I hope we can find someone who can help you," James said, "Because even from where I'm sitting, I can see that whatever's happening to you is spreading past your arm."

Why did this have to happen to him? Sam shook his head, using his left human hand to feel along the smooth metal of his right forearm. There was a better question to be asked though: _How_ could this be happening to him? There had to be a rational explanation for all of this, except he just did not know what this explanation was. And how could he find out? Maybe Ratchet might have an idea but if he did not…Then what? Would Sam have to suffer through the rest of this agonizing transformation?

The last question struck fear into his heart. The "rest" of this transformation: Just what would happen to the rest of him? What of his head, his chest and stomach, his…He swallowed. If something, anything happened to his reproductive organs he might not be able to cope. He needed to end this transformation, no matter what he had to do. He had to stop it from getting any further, he had to…

What would his parents think? What would Mikaela think? What would any other human being think? He was a freak. Even now he had one Cybertronian arm and it was certainly hard to hide something like this. Anyone with decent enough eyesight could see that his arm was different, that it was metal, alien and far more advanced than any sort of prosthetic limb available. Thus, he could not get away with claiming that this right arm was prosthetic since only idiots would fall for that. Then again, a lot of people _were_ idiots. Maybe it could work but what if something happened to his face? How would he explain that? Could he say he was a heavily made-up extra for a science fiction movie? Seriously, in his current state he was having trouble coming up with any plausible cover story. His mind seemed clouded, as if there was something interfering with his thoughts and memories, twisting his perception of the world as it saw fit. This force…He had to fight it. He had to stop it from gaining control.

He suddenly felt more nauseous than he had ever felt. Up ahead he could make out a gas station, the type synonymous with desert highways like this. A few differing vehicles were parked outside of it, including a utility truck loaded with planks of wood while a toolbox sat in its rear tray.

"Can we stop at that gas station?" Sam asked.

"Stop? Why?" James frowned, returning his gaze to Sam. "We still have a long way to go till we're in Vegas…"

"Just seriously…can we stop?"

"Yeah, let's stop for a while," Jones said, breaking his self-induced silence, "I need to get something to eat."

"Hey, Deadeye," Sam said, directing his attention to the dashboard. The Autobot insignia was, unsurprisingly, set in the centre of the steering wheel. "Could we stop at this gas station? I need to catch some fresh air. I don't feel so well…"

_"Sure,"_ Deadeye's voice broke in through the radio, accented with that British sounding twang of his.

Deadeye came to a halt outside of the gas station, pulling up behind the utility truck. There did not seem to be anyone outside, probably because of the lousy weather. The pumps were dusty and seemed to be ill-maintained while the gas station building itself had seen better days. Still, it was in use and it appeared to be a cross between a general store and a coffee shop. Sam felt more nauseous as the thought of food came to mind, even though he knew that deep down he was damn hungry.

James looked at Sam and simply shook his head.

"Sam…You can't go inside looking like that. I mean, what are people going to say when they see your arm? You don't think they're just going to ignore it?" James asked. He made a good point but Sam was not about to simply sit in the car. Besides, he had the feeling he would be puking soon.

"I'll just have to work something out," Sam said, pulling open his side's door. He stepped out into a cool desert breeze, hearing the crunch of wet gravel underfoot while his nostrils detected the pungent stench of petrol. Jones exited the car as well, along with James who seemed to shuffle uncertainly, as if half-expecting something bad to happen.

Sam trudged along, heading to the glass sliding doors of the gas station which slid open as he approached. There were about half a dozen people inside including the old guy standing behind the counter. Sam put his affected arm behind him as he walked by, making his way to the door that lead into the male toilet block. He pushed it open and stepped inside, making sure to lock the door behind him before he raced over to the toilet within and knelt in front of it.

Now alone, he could let his emotions overtake him. Tears welled at his eyes and sobs built up in his throat: Bumblebee was dead, Depthcharge was dead, Ironhide was dead…And here he was now, turning into something he did not wish to become. His life was ruined, more so than it had ever been before. He needed to stop this transformation, he needed to find a way…but what if there was no way? What if he was doomed to live the rest of his life as some sort of hybrid freak? There was not a chance in hell that the government would ignore his case. No, they would catch him and experiment upon him. Why wouldn't they? He was a special case, one-of-a-kind. No one would ignore him and before he would realize it he would become the most valuable scientific asset on the planet. In simpler terms, he could say goodbye to his ordinary life.

Without warning he threw up. It tasted vile in his mouth, almost metallic yet mingled with the coppery taste of regular human blood. It splattered into the toilet bowl rather loudly and Sam retched, gagged and made other general noises to show his disgust. It came out of him at an almost projectile rate, staining the inside of the bowl with a mix of red blood and glowing blue energon fluid. It was over within a few minutes and Sam stood up, only slightly eased by his throwing up. He used one of his shirt's sleeves to wipe what little of the ooze had clung on and around his mouth. He looked at what was in the toilet bowl and could not help but feel terrified of what was happening to him: there was energon fluid, a thick, gooey gunky mess that mixed with red blood to form a vile-looking combination. Without hesitation Sam flushed the toilet, watching as the majority of what he had thrown up disappeared in a rush of foaming water.

He stepped over to the mirror and looked at himself. He held up his transforming right arm and took a very good look at it, feeling along the indentations and segmentations that it was now comprised of. He switched on the tap and took a drink to wash away the vile taste of the puke from his mouth. Once the taste was gone he turned off the tap and simply stood staring at his reflection for a while, contemplating what he would do next.

Blood…_his_ blood had begun to soak his shirt. It seemed to be seeping out of his arm slowly as the transformation spread. He had not realized it until now since he had not even felt it…and now the right sleeve of his long-sleeved shirt was beginning to become soaked with it. The smell of the blood was beginning to get quite strong. How much could he afford to lose? Then again, he was losing blood because…The thought occurred to him that his changing form did not need blood anymore. Instead, it needed energon fluid.

_Jesus Christ…This is too much._

With a sudden burst of rage Sam punched the mirror with his right arm. He had underestimated the new strength that came with this arm since his clenched metal fist went straight through the mirror and into the wall beyond with a dull _thump!_ The glass of the mirror shattered and pieces fell away into the sink and onto the floor, breaking into even smaller ones. The noise must have gotten someone else's attention because the next thing he knew there was a knock on the door.

"Hey, buddy, are you alright in there?" It was a man's voice but not one he knew. It probably belonged to one of the customers.

Something had to be done about this transformation. Whatever had to be done to stop it, Sam was willing to do it. Even if it meant cutting off his right arm…

And then it hit him. He would do just that. All he needed was a suitable implement and he remembered the toolbox on the back of the utility truck parked outside. Hopefully it was still there.

There was a much weaker voice in his mind, the voice of reason: it was telling him that cutting off his right arm would not succeed, that it was better to simply go on to Las Vegas and find Simmons and then Ratchet. They would know what was happening to him…How could they not know?

Sam quelled that voice. He turned around and unlocked the door, stepping out into the inside of the gas station building. A man in a red checkered shirt and blue jeans stood outside, holding a typical cowboy hat in one hand. He frowned as Sam stepped out of the toilet block and his gaze fell to Sam's right arm.

"Jesus Christ, boy, you look like shit," The man said. Sam ignored him and instead stormed straight past him, bumping into Jones on the way out. Jones had been looking at the selection of chocolate bars on one shelf as Sam went by.

"Hey, Sam, where are you going?" Jones asked but by the time he had finished asking this Sam was outside.

Sam was determined to see this crazy scheme of his through. It had to work, it just had to…At the very least it would provide a reprieve from the transformation, perhaps stop it in its tracks. James stood nearby, enacting typical small-talk with an elderly man. From what Sam overheard of the conversation it seemed that the man had asked why a priest was why out here. James had taken the time to formulate a believable story that did not mention Autobots or Decepticons or why he, James and Sam were fleeing Tranquility. It went along the lines of James being Jones uncle and Sam being a close friend of Jones' and that the three of them were going to spend Christmas together in Las Vegas.

"Las Vegas, huh?" The old man said, "Good luck to yer."

"I don't need luck when I have God on my side," James replied, chuckling as he did so. He did not notice Sam walk by and head towards the parked truck, nor did he notice when Sam took the axe from the toolbox on the truck's rear. Even if he had noticed there was little chance he could have done much to stop a determined Sam Witwicky from carrying out the desperate scheme he had formulated. And such a scheme would prove to be an important lesson for Sam, as the young human would eventually find out.

With the axe in hand (it was a small one, used to cut through slim branches) Sam made his way around the gas station building, finding himself a shaded area in a ditch. This ditch was filled with numerous pieces of refuse, such as cardboard boxes and a few rusted household appliances. Sam put his affected right arm onto a discarded washing machine, lying it out flat while he used his left hand to tear a strip off of his shirt. He had no real idea as to what he was doing so he was going along with what he had seen in movies when this sort of thing occurred, biting into the strip of shirt as to not bite his tongue or grind his teeth when the pain occurred. Chances are it would be a hell of a lot of pain but if the removal of his right arm even so much as delayed the transformation, he would end up quite pleased. At least, he hoped he would. Something told him that he would end up even more frustrated and upset than he was now.

He laid his affected arm across the dirtied white top of the washing machine, ensuring that it remained rigid. The metal parts of his arm gleamed in the sunlight that had begun to filter through the rainclouds above, acting as a further reminder of what was happening to him.

He gripped the axe in his left hand and looked straight ahead, concentrating on a particular spot of desert shrubbery up ahead. With the blade of the axe he found a still human flesh-bound part of his arm, beneath the shoulder. Here there were at least a few centimetres from where the full extent of the transformation had reached, excluding the faint blotches forming at his shoulder and face. He brought the axe up, taking a deep breath. He told himself that it was the only way, that once this was over he would be better off…He could not afford to waste anymore time. With each passing moment the transformation crept up his arm, working its way into his very being, altering his internal organs. Even now he could feel a dull throbbing at where his heart was and the beating of that heart had become irregular. Something was happening to him, something that must be stopped.

He held up the axe, preparing to bring it down in a fluid cutting motion. He knew that something would go wrong though since he knew that it would be impossible to cut all the way through the arm in the one blow. No, it would take several strikes. The pain would be intense and it would only get worse once he reached the bone. Cutting through the bone…he doubted he could do it. He would have to break the bone instead since a mere axe would not be able to cleanly saw through it. What he needed was a hacksaw to cut through the bone and maybe there had been one in the toolbox he had grabbed the axe from, he did not know.

Regardless of whether he needed a hacksaw or not, Sam Witwicky did not go through with it. Instead, he whimpered and brought the axe down in a powerful cutting motion at a somewhat lower position and different angle. Instead of hitting the human flesh under his shoulder he brought the blade squarely down onto the fingers of his right hand. The metal armour-like shell of his fingers there absorbed most of the impact but even so the blade managed to create a nasty, seeping gash across the back of three of his fingers on that hand. He screamed as agonizing pain erupted forth, indicating that this hand…this metal, Cybertronian-like hand was part of him since it hurt him as much as his human hand would. Sam dropped the axe and cradled his gashed right hand, feeling warm energon fluid seep out from the gash and into his lap. It had a pungent smell, one that had a metallic quality about it.

He could barely move the gashed fingers now. Instead, he stood up and resigned he started his way back to where Deadeye, in vehicle mode, was parked. However, on the way there he bumped into James who had been out looking for him. When he saw the state Sam was in a look of concern appeared on his face.

"Sam, what are you trying to do?" James asked, "I could hear you screaming…"

Sam swallowed. There was no way he was going to cut off his own arm, not when there was still a chance that the transformation could be stopped. Looking at his right arm now he started to doubt whether it was possible to reverse something this profound. In the affected forearm region there was no evidence of any human flesh left. What would happen when it reached his face? Would that be drastically altered?

"Sam…you're bleeding…" James sounded a bit incredulous as to what he was saying. It took Sam a moment to realize that blue energon fluid was dripping from the gash across his hand. He held up the affected hand and took a look at the fingers, finding that the metallic pinky finger was hanging on by a mere thread. This one hurt the most and Sam, somewhat in fascination, pushed on it with his human left hand. It hung loosely from the rest of his hand and with little thought Sam grabbed it and pulled it off. A minor victory, he thought. Seconds later the stump where the finger had been started to throb painfully.

"I tried to cut it off," Sam said quietly. He threw the finger he had pulled off aside, as if it disgusted him. For some reason, tears were welling up in his eyes. Doubts filled his mind. Why did this have to happen to him? Why did he have to be the one suffering this…transformation? He was turning into something, something entirely different to the human form he was used to. It was the sort of thing nightmares were made of.

"You tried to cut off your arm?" James asked, wide-eyed. "Are you nuts? Even if you had had the guts to do it, you would have bled to death!"

"Damn it James, I don't need your fucking sympathy!" Sam snapped and James looked taken aback for a moment before regaining his calm and collected composure. Tears were streaming down Sam's face now but he did not care. James was not the one having to deal with a changing physical form.

"I just want to find some way to stop this!" Sam yelled. By now the few other people outside the gas station, including Jones, had turned around to look at who was yelling. What annoyed Sam even more was the way James was just standing there, not at all fazed by Sam's emotional outburst.

"And we'll find a way," James said calmly.

"What are my parents going to think?" Sam asked, "What happens to the rest of me? The arm's just the start…What'll happen to my face? What'll happen to my stomach? What'll happen to my _balls_?"

He paused for breath before continuing.

"This…This would never have happened if…if…"

"If what, Sam? If you hadn't had gotten involved? If your robot friends had not have pulled you out of your normal life one last time? Sam, the thing you have to understand is that we're on the same side here. What's happening to you I can only attribute to bad luck—"

"Bad luck, huh? Is that all it is?" Sam laughed, storming over to the brick wall of the gas station building nearby. Without any thought on it he punched his Cybertronian right hand into the wall, screaming as his gashed fingers and bleeding finger stump erupted into agonizing pain. Still, he was able to punch a sizeable hole through the wall.

"Yeah, I'm sure you can attribute all of this to 'bad luck'," Sam said, removing his hand from the brick wall, "This isn't bad luck. This is bullshit. This whole business to do with Centurion, the Matrix…It's all bullshit. All I wanted to do was to live a normal life, not turn into something else! I have a girlfriend, damn it! How the fuck is she going to react when she finds out I'm turning into some sort of…human-Cybertronian hybrid? How are my parents going to react? Even better, what if some government agency decides to take me captive and experiment on me? What then?"

"I can understand your anger, but we're all fighting for the same thing here," James said, continually unfazed by Sam's yelling, "We're the only people who have a chance of stopping Centurion. We have to find this Simmons guy since he might be able to shed some light on what's happening. And from there we can find you help. Like you said, this Ratchet robot friend of yours…He might be able to help."

"No one can help me," Sam said. He slumped against the brick wall, both physically and mentally exhausted. His eyes were wet with tears and he sobbed briefly. James stepped over to him and looked like he was about to sit down next to him but Sam simply shook his head.

"I don't need your sympathy," Sam said, "In fact, since you're a priest and all, why don't you tell God to fix me?"

"Uh…Well…"

"Yeah, I thought as much." Sam shook his head, pausing for a moment before looking up at James again. The priest seemed rather uncertain about himself, something that was understandable since the existence of his God was being questioned in a rather harsh way. If there was a God, why was He letting Sam suffer like this?

"You still have that gun of yours?" Sam asked.

"Yeah, why?"

"Give it to me."

"Uh…why do you want it?"

"So I can shoot myself in the head," Sam said.

James shook his head, thinking for a moment that Sam was joking. Unfortunately, he could see by the look in the young man's eyes that he was not joking.

"I'm not going to be an assistant to your suicide," James said, "Besides, maybe God's letting this happen because he has a good reason to."  
Sam huffed disbelievingly when he heard this.

"Oh yeah, and what do you think this 'good reason' is?" Sam asked.

James shrugged. He seemed at a loss for words again, proving that he had not clearly thought out what he had been going to say. Sam could see that James was trying his best to be reassuring but unusual for a priest, he was failing at it.

"Maybe…Maybe it's meant to happen," James said, "Maybe God has some big scheme and maybe you suffering through this transformation…It might be part of it. It might be Fate playing its hand. Do you believe in fate, Sam?"

"No, not really," Sam replied. This was true enough, but then again he had never really given it much thought. He was far too young to be thinking about things such as fate and destiny. "I believe that shit just happens." He held up his transformed arm. "What's happening to me is a prime example of shit happening. What do you think?"

"I think you need to be a bit more open minded…"

"Open-minded?" Sam's eyes widened. "Yeah, right. I'm open-minded since I've had to make friends with a bunch of shape-shifting alien robots. Ever since I encountered them, I've been very open-minded. But now, with you talking about fate and God and all that…Well, I've never really been the religious type."

"People need something to believe in," James said, "It gives them hope. Without hope, there is no meaning to living. And from what I can tell, you've given up hope…"

"I haven't given up hope," Sam said, shaking his head, "I just can't see any of it anymore."

James Turner did not have a response for this. Sam fell silent as well, sitting against the wall while his gashed metal fingers throbbed painfully. If he was not mistaken it seemed that the gradual transformation was creeping its way up his arm.

Was it all hopeless? It may as well have been, although even Sam did not want to be completely downbeat. There was that faint glimmer of hope, no matter how distant or how impossible to reach it was still there. And yet…his current situation just made it seem pointless in trying to reach and grasp it. Hopeless…well, maybe it all was hopeless. Maybe this time around, the good guys were not going to win. He sighed, shook his head and remained sitting where he was for several more minutes.


	9. Chain Reaction

**Chain Reaction  
**Tranquility, Nevada  
December 16th, 2010

Strike Force Alpha, consisting of Optimus Prime, Ratchet, Sideswipe as well as several NEST soldiers, arrived in Tranquility at about half past five in the afternoon. By this time the sun was beginning to get low in the sky and the sky itself was darkening, turning from blue to a light purple that gradually darkened as the day turned into evening. By now the dark grey rainclouds had parted and the air had become cool as evening neared.

Captain William Lennox was understandably annoyed at the lack of information they had. There mission was to secure Sam Witwicky and determine the Decepticon presence in Tranquility, yet they had no idea where to start their search. Sam had apparently gone missing as of two o'clock in the afternoon today, as had a local African-American priest and some young guy who lived with his mother. These three humans were obviously linked to what was happening, Lennox could determine this much…but where they were now was a mystery. Perhaps, by finding Megatron and Starscream they would find Sam and these other two humans. It seemed the most logical thing to do and should have been easy enough if it were not for the fact that they had no idea where Megatron and Starscream were.

Tranquility was a big town. Optimus had mentioned something about interference earlier as they had headed into the factory outskirts of the town. The interference with the sensors of the Autobots was apparently much like the interference that Centurion seemed to emanate wherever he went. This hinted that Centurion was in town as well, the interference shielding the presence of any other Decepticons or Autobots from detection. Finding Centurion was a matter of determining where the web of interference was strongest and simply searching that area. Hence why Strike Force Alpha had been brought to a warehouse district, the type full of those generic warehouses that had been left in disuse for years. It was the perfect place for a large alien robot to hide out since it was far from the more populated parts of town. The only things in this neighbourhood were factories, an oil refinery and a whole lot of warehouses.

Lennox was seated in the driver's seat of Optimus' vehicle mode (a blue Peterbuilt truck with flame decals). Master Sergeant Robert Epps was seated next to him in the passenger seat, fiddling with the radio on the dashboard as he flicked through the available stations. Unfortunately it seemed that the interference was messing with the local radio signals, resulting in a haze of white noise that effectively drowned out all music.

Optimus had come to a halt near a block of warehouses. Behind him were Ratchet and Sideswipe, both in vehicle modes and following along in a convoy fashion. They had stopped as well, the street deserted save for these three vehicles.

"You know," Epps said, breaking the silence within the truck, "If I'm not wrong, then my guess is the bad guys are around here somewhere."

"I think we could have gathered that," Lennox replied. Optimus would not have stopped for no reason, hinting that there was indeed something nearby worth checking out.

"_The interference is strongest in this area,"_ Optimus interjected, his voice filtering through the speakers at the radio on the dashboard, _"However, it is impossible to determine where it originates from exactly."_

"Well, we're just going to have to look around," Lennox said, "Chances are we'll run into trouble…"

"Or trouble will run into us," Epps finished. The pair exchanged glances before returning their gaze through the front windscreen.

There had been talk amongst the Autobots since they had left Provo, Utah to come to Tranquility. If Deadeye was one of the Autobots currently in Tranquility then it just so happened that he was Optimus Prime's son. Deadeye had gone missing some time ago and had been presumed dead…It seemed logical that he had come to Earth seeing as he was not dead, if what Lennox was hearing was to be believed. The way Optimus seemed more withdrawn than usual hinted that the idea of meeting his long lost son was weighing heavily on his mind.

Lennox knew that such thinking could affect one's performance in a combat situation. Lennox was not about to talk to Optimus about it…He knew little about alien robot family relationships and thus was out of his league when it came to talking to a downbeat robot father about them. He was sure that Optimus could handle himself regardless of what was on his mind but even so, there was that faint inkling that something was impairing the Prime's judgement. He had said very little on the way out here, as if deep in his own thoughts. Then again, Lennox knew he would probably be acting much the same way if he knew his long lost (presumed dead) son was still alive after God only knew how long.

It annoyed him to think that the crisis, one that had started as a seemingly routine operation to the Netherlands, had inflated into a fiasco that was yet to see an end. There were Decepticons on the loose, Centurion being the most notable. He had just come out of nowhere, turning up in Holland and killing Ironhide in the same day. Lennox had known Ironhide better than any of the other Autobots…Ironhide had been the family car, after all. The surly Autobot had been more than just an alien comrade…he had been a _friend_. And he was dead. It was strange how things worked out: Lennox had never really known just how much of a friend Ironhide had been until he had been killed. Now it seemed as if there was a gaping hole in the Major's life, one that could have only been filled by the surly Autobot known as Ironhide. Thinking of Centurion simply angered Lennox, especially when he took into account the latest intelligence they had gathered: Bumblebee had been killed and Sam Witwicky had been taken captive. Centurion had to be stopped but this was frustratingly difficult to do judging from past encounters with him: Centurion was impervious to all weapons, boasting some sort of energy shield that soaked up everything that was thrown at him. He had to be stopped…and yet he could not be stopped. Lennox clenched one hand into a fist as he thought about this, unable to fathom just how much trouble Centurion had caused. Megatron had been easy in comparison because at least Megatron could be _hurt_. Centurion, on the other hand…Well, he could not be hurt. You would need a nuke to damage him and there sure as hell were not going to be any nukes dropped on American soil.

"_Major Lennox, come in please. This is General Morshower."_ Lennox's radio headset crackled into life, breaking his train of thought. Lennox opened the channel, recognizing the voice on the other end as General Morshower's.

"General, sir, this is Major Lennox," Lennox replied. Epps looked at him, frowning but listening in anyway. Lennox was just as perplexed as Epps was as to why Morshower was calling them now.

"What is it?" Lennox asked.

"_We have reason to believe that Colonel Weller, of Sector Eight, is in the area. He may be after Sam Witwicky."_

"What do you want us to do if we find Weller?" Lennox asked. Killing him came to mind but it seemed like a bit of a waste. Morshower took his time to reply, thinking through the possibilities and the consequences of each.

"_If possible, take him alive,"_ Morshower said, _"But, if this proves to be difficult, you have authorization to eliminate him. He has already proven to be a danger to our operations and there's no telling what he might do next. Your other objectives still stand: Determine the Decepticon presence in Tranquility and ensure Sam Witwicky's safety. Finding and capturing Colonel Weller is a secondary objective.."_

"Secondary, sir?" Epps asked.

"_Yes, 'secondary'. Do it only if it is possible to do them without missing out on your primary objectives. Colonel Weller is not our problem. The Decepticons are our problem: Centurion especially. Some rogue human organization, on the other hand…"_

"I understand, sir," Lennox said.

"_Good. There is one other thing, however."_

"What is that?"

"_The Secretary of Defence has been given permission to disclose the existence of NEST to delegates from several other nations."_

Disclosure? Lennox's eyes widened. Was the Secretary of Defence insane? Epps seemed to be reacting in much the same way from what Lennox could see.

"Disclosure? Is that a good move?" Epps asked, doubt evident in his voice. Morshower sighed, a sign of exhaustion. Lennox and Epps were just as tired but the current crisis did not allow much time for sleep.

"_Because of what happened in both the Netherlands and Austria, it seems that other nations have been pressing for explanations. There were too many witnesses in both incidents. That is why the President has authorized a controlled disclosure to several other nations. This disclosure will take place in a secure meeting later this evening. I just thought it would be best to give you guys a heads up…"_

"Well, if the President says so…" Lennox trailed off. Too much was happening, simply too much. Disclosure would have had to come eventually, but hearing that it was to happen soon…That was a bit too weighty on the mind, especially with Ironhide's death still stuck on Lennox's conscience.

"_Precisely. If the President says so, it happens. I believe he thinks that the existence of the Cybertronians cannot be kept a secret any longer. I think he thinks that the only way we're going to pull through this crisis is if the countries of the world are united, that sort of bullshit."_ There was a suitably long pause as all three of them digested these new developments. Finally, Morshower signed off: _"Good luck, Major. General Morshower out."_ With that, the General ended the communications and the headsets of Lennox and Epps fell silent. The pair exchanged glances. Epps shook his head, still a bit incredulous as to what he had heard.

"Disclosure? That's not a good thing," He said simply, "I can tell you now that there are going to be some rather pissed off world leaders."

"It had to happen sooner or later," Lennox said.

"_Disclosure?"_ Optimus had been listening in the whole time, something that did not surprise Lennox in the slightest. _"That may have unforeseen consequences…"_

"No shit," Epps said, "I can tell you now, the Chinese are going to want a piece of the action. And so are the Russians."

"Well, it's not going to be public disclosure," Lennox said, trying to remain optimistic, "Just disclosure to several other nations' governments."

"And those several other nations are going to get mighty annoyed and tell the public," Epps replied, shaking his head, "Can't you see that shit is fucked up enough for the President to actually organize something like this?"

Lennox sighed. He could not help but agree with Epps: Shit was indeed fucked up. The situation was spiralling out of control and now the whistle was going to be blown in the whole thing. NEST would fall apart and be taken over by a multinational organization once disclosure had been made. In essence, the whole thing sucked.

"The public can't handle the truth," Lennox replied.

There was a lengthy silence. It took Lennox a moment to realize that he had forgotten why they were here. It said something about the state of affairs when there was simply too much on his mind that he forgot what he was supposed to be doing.

"Hey, uh…Optimus, what are we supposed to be doing?" Lennox asked. He thought it best to set his concentration back on the matter at hand rather than think about all of the recent developments. Mikaela Banes had been abducted by Sector Eight, the President was going to tell the world about NEST…What the hell was the use in worrying about it when the fate of the world was at stake? Centurion was on the loose and he was near…Yes, Lennox could sense it. Centurion was nearby, if only biding his time or simply uninterested in the presence of the Autobots.

"_Smokescreen said he would meet us here,"_ Optimus said, _"He is running late."_

"Smokescreen?" Epps asked, confused. "Didn't he only just arrive yesterday?"

"_Yes. Do not worry, he is an old friend of mine and can be trusted,"_ Optimus said, _"He was Jazz's brother…"_

"Jazz…" Lennox frowned. He had barely known that particular Autobot. Jazz had been one of the original five Autobots to have come to Earth and he had been the first one to die. The last Lennox had seen of him, Jazz had had his two halves lowered into the ocean with the remains of Megatron…Well, that was what he had seen occur. It just so happened that Colonel Weller and the rest of Sector Eight had recovered those remains and had done with them whatever they had felt like, such as much research.

It was at that moment that Lennox caught sight of something a little further up the street. He pushed open his side's door as did Epps and the pair exited Optimus' vehicle mode, standing in the cool air of the practically deserted street. The few soldiers in the rest of the convoy exited their vehicles and looked towards the new arrival. Optimus, Sideswipe and Ratchet rose into their full robot modes as Smokescreen approached. It took Lennox a moment to see that Smokescreen dragged something behind him…

His heart skipped a beat when he saw what it was. Bumblebee had certainly looked better and far cleaner but now that bright yellow colour of his was drowned out by stains of brown mud. A large jagged tear went right through Bumblebee's chest and the bright blue glow in his eyes was gone. Instead, his eyes appeared dark and lifeless.

"This is getting out of hand," Captain Graham Winters said as he approached Lennox and Epps from behind, "First Ironhide…Now Bumblebee." Graham had been riding in Ratchet's vehicle form. Usually, where Graham was smiling and quite chirpy he was now quite solemn.

Smokescreen was silver and black, bearing many of the features of his vehicle mode of a silver Pontiac Solstice. In fact, he looked much like Jazz but was definitely less outgoing. Smokescreen looked rather downbeat, as if dragging a fellow Autobot's remains had strained him both physically and mentally.

"Optimus," he said, seeing the Prime. He shifted his gaze to Ratchet and Sideswipe before looking down at Lennox and the other humans.

"What happened, exactly?" Optimus asked, his tone calm and controlled as it most often was.

"I wasn't there when it happened," Smokescreen said, "But from what I know, Bumblebee was attacked by Megatron, Starscream and Centurion at the same time. Deadeye, Depthcharge and myself arrived too late to intervene. By the time we had come to the scene of the battle, Bumblebee was dead and Sam Witwicky was gone, as were the Decepticons."

Optimus spoke almost as soon as Smokescreen had finished talking, sounding a little too eager.

"Where is Deadeye now?" He asked. Lennox could see that he desperately wanted to see his long lost son, even if that was not immediately possible.

"He went after the Decepticons to try and rescue Sam. Depthcharge went with him."  
Optimus involuntarily tensed (if a robot could do that, Lennox could not tell). He seemed to ease almost immediately but the worry he felt for his only son was evident in the way his metallic gaze had narrowed.

"I haven't heard from either of them," Smokescreen continued, "As far as I know, Centurion, Megatron and Starscream ventured to this warehouse district. The interference prevented me from keeping track of Deadeye and Depthcharge, so I have no idea as to what's happened to them."

"We'll scour the area," Optimus said. He turned to Ratchet and Sideswipe. "The three of us will split up, that way we'll cover more ground…"

"I don't want to sound negative, Optimus," Ratchet said, sounding like the voice of reason he always was. Ratchet had that tendency, to try and put logic to any situation he found himself in. "However, the last time we split up, Ironhide died and we almost lost Jolt. I think it would be best if we stuck together."

Optimus considered this for a moment. It was obvious he wanted to find Deadeye as soon as possible and Lennox could tell that this desperation was beginning to become evident in the sudden, ill-thought out orders he was giving. It seemed quite probable that Optimus had become emotionally compromised…That is, if an alien robot could actually become emotionally compromised. Lennox had no idea how emotions and robots worked together but these robots were suitably more human than most.

"I suppose you are right, Ratchet," Optimus replied, seeming to admit his error of judgment, "We are better off as a team, especially if we encounter Centurion."

"So, what do we do now?" Epps asked.

"We start searching," Lennox replied. He looked up at Smokescreen, noticing how the Autobot seemed somewhat downbeat. Then again, so we he. There was not much to be happy about anymore, seeing as so much was happening and most of it was not very good.

"Smokescreen, you're with us," Lennox said.

"And who are you?"

"Major William Lennox. I'm in charge of the human force for this operation."

Smokescreen simply nodded, resigned to whatever new job he was being given. He obviously was not in much of a mood to talk or be friendly for that matter. Lennox could understand since he himself was not in a very good mood either.

"Alright, we'll search the surrounding area, keeping it to a kilometre radius," Lennox ordered, clearing his throat as he paused for breath, "Centurion has to be around here somewhere. If Centurion is here, then Megatron and Starscream probably will be as well. And where they are, we'll find Sam. We may even find Deadeye and Depthcharge."

The others nodded but Epps, out of all of them, seemed concentrated on something else. Lennox looked at him, frowning since he thought that maybe Epps had not been listening to him.

"Hey, Epps, something bothering you?" Lennox asked, "Because I've got a lot on my mind as well…"

"No," Epps interrupted, his gaze going up towards the late afternoon sky. Lennox was uncertain as to what could possibly be up there that was so interesting but he followed the Sergeant's gaze regardless.

"Do you hear that?" Graham interjected. Optimus was looking down the street, peering a little up the sky. Ratchet, Sideswipe and Smokescreen followed his gaze while the other NEST soldiers behind them fell silent.

Lennox heard it then as well. He knew the sound well: the roar of a jet engine. However, there was a distinct "doubling-up" of the sound, hinting that there were two of them. He followed the gazes of everybody up the street, catching a glimpse of two speeding dark shapes that were heading straight for them. Starscream immediately came to Lennox's mind, the Major able to remember the other times that Starscream had strafed their positions in past battles. However, neither of these jets were Starscream. Where Starscream was a silver-grey colour and covered with intricate Cybertronian symbols, the two oncoming jets now were distinctly black in colour. The one on the left was black with silver trimming while the other was black with dark red trimming. He recognized the one on the left as an F-35 (Breakaway? Could it really be him?) The other was an F-22 (Starscream's choice of vehicle mode and yet it was not Starscream). How many of these damn Decepticon jets were other? He had always thought that Starscream had been the only one yet he was quite obviously wrong.

"Get out of the fucking street!" Epps shouted suddenly. The two jets continued roaring towards them and this was enough to knock everyone out of their stupor. In a flurry of motion the Autobots stepped off of the road while the humans started scattering, readying their rifles. Lennox was swept along with Graham and Epps as they ran into a nearby alley. Lennox stopped just short of entering the alley, raising his assault rifle. Across the street Smokescreen watched and tried to track the oncoming jets with his right arm cannon.

It was no surprise when both jets opened fire with a barrage of missiles, four coming from each jet. The eight missiles in total zoomed down the street, twirling around and leaving behind smoking what contrails. Lennox was knocked backwards as one impacted one of the NEST SUVs parked on the side of the street a short distance away from him, the sound of the explosion leaving a loud, high-pitched ringing in his ears. A column of smoke and flame erupted from the vehicle and its smoking hulk was sent flying up high into the air. The other missiles slammed into the road and send forth large columns of blacktop and cement, chunks of the stuff raining down all throughout the street. Within seconds the jets were gone, zooming off into the distance. Lennox could see them putting some distance between themselves and their targets before beginning to turn around to set up another strafing run.

"Who the hell are they?" Lennox shouted, his heart racing. He slowly rose to his feet, taking a look at Epps and then at Ratchet who was standing nearby. Optimus and Sideswipe had opened fire, their cannons barking loudly as they swept weapons fire into the general direction of the two jet fighters.

Lennox could see that no one was willing to give him any answers so he began to run for another of the NEST SUVs that had been part of their convoy. This one was relatively intact despite the fact that three others lay as smoking and smouldering hulks nearby. He pulled open the back of the SUV and retrieved a large case, one he knew contained an anti-aircraft missile launcher. It would be hard to hit a target like a speeding jet but he had to try, if only to get these Decepticon jets on the ground where the fight was even.

"Get out of the street, Lennox!" Epps shouted at him from the alley. He and Graham were crouched within, rifles held close to their chests while Ratchet stood nearby. Optimus and Sideswipe had ceased firing and instead started making their way towards a truck parked a little further up the street.

Behind him, Lennox could hear the roar of the jet engines as they came speeding in far another strafing run. He probably did not have long before they started shooting so he quickly opened the case, pulling out the anti-aircraft missile launcher. This sort of launcher was built for taking out helicopters since they moved considerably slower than any jet. Unfortunately, it was the only thing they had with them right now that could combat a pair of speeding jet fighters.

Lennox hefted the launcher onto his shoulder and aimed it towards the pair of jets. The weapon was already loaded so he did not have to waste time in firing it, making sure the launcher's computer acquired a target lock before pulling the trigger. The launcher buckled in his grip and the heat of the back-blast washed across his back, but otherwise he was perfectly unharmed. The missile started towards one of the oncoming jets as the pair came in for a strafing run. Because of the momentum the jets had acquired they could not veer out of the way of the oncoming missile fast enough. The one on the right, the black and red one, veered away just as the missile collided with the other jet. It blew a sizeable chunk of plating off of one of the wings before sending the jet spinning out of control, its engines roaring loudly (almost as if it was angry). Lennox lowered the launcher and watched with some satisfaction as the jet smashed into the front of a nearby warehouse, sending chunks of metal and cement flying outwards and all over the street. A gas main must have ignited since a large fireball exploded from the front of the warehouse's ground floor, blasting away the whole front of the warehouse and sending further mess onto the street below.

The other jet had put some distance between itself and its targets. Lennox began to reload the launcher as the Autobots and NEST soldiers came out from hiding. Optimus and Sideswipe deposited a large truck across the width of the street, forming a sort of makeshift barricade. Other than the whine of a distant jet engine, there was silence. The jet Lennox had shot down showed no activity, being out of sight amongst the rubble of the warehouse.

"Lennox…wait!" Ratchet shouted from his right, getting the Major's attention. He nodded towards the destroyed warehouse and Lennox could only look on with some surprise.

Out of the rubble arose a familiar looking Autobot…familiar in the sense that the main form of the Autobot was there, just now with some noticeable differences. The main differences that Lennox could see immediately were the change from a desert brown camouflage pattern to a menacing, black and silver colour. The optics were not blue, rather they were red just like the optics of a Decepticon were. He recognized this Autobot but the changes made him doubt whether he was familiar with this Autobot or not. It could not be Breakaway, could it? Breakaway was missing, presumed dead. At least, that was the official story anyway. If he was not actually confirmed dead then there was still a chance of him turning up…and now he had, looking a little different than usual. If that was Breakaway…

"It's Breakaway," Ratchet said, just as confused as Lennox was.

"_That's_ Breakaway?" Lennox asked, "Then how come he was shooting at us?"

Breakaway emerged from the rubble of the warehouse and casually brushed himself down of the dust and debris that had covered him. He looked towards the barricade and the Autobots and humans taking cover behind it.

"Breakaway, what have you done?" Optimus asked, sounding quite disbelieving of what he was seeing. This was certainly the first time Lennox had ever heard him like this. "What are you doing, shooting at us?"

Breakaway did not reply. Instead, he seemed to smile as he transformed his right arm into its familiar sniper rifle form. However, instead of the usual single, high-powered energy shot it fired something else happened. A blue-white beam lanced from the barrel and hit the overturned truck that Optimus and Sideswipe had deposited across the width of the street. It took about a second before a shimmering haze of energy shot forth along the beam and obliterated the whole truck, sending both Optimus and Sideswipe flying backwards. Immediately the human NEST soldiers, Smokescreen and Ratchet opened fire. Bullets pounded off of Breakaway's new armoured frame as he began blasting away at the barricade with his secondary weapon, disintegrating a few NEST soldiers.

Lennox realized then that Breakaway was no longer a friend of NEST. A result, Lennox began to hurriedly reload the launcher, thinking that it was certainly more effective than using his standard rifle. Above, he heard the roar of a jet engine again and looked up, seeing that the other jet was back. It appeared that Breakaway had a new friend…_that backstabbing bastard._

"Oh, shit." This was all Lennox managed to say as the jet came speeding in for another strafing run.


	10. Corruption

**Corruption  
**Tranquility, Nevada  
December 16th, 2010

There was little to be surprised about in Ratchet's opinion: Breakaway had been a troubled Cybertronian, torn between both the Autobots and the Decepticons and having had connections to these two factions. Ratchet had not known Breakaway all that well during the war so when it came to Breakaway's obvious backstabbing, Ratchet thought little of it. Breakaway was just another enemy, despite the obvious fact that he had good connections with Optimus as a friend. Optimus was only just rising back onto his feet now, doing his best to recover from the shock of the explosion that had knocked him over.

Ratchet stood to the side of the street in a crouched position, his right arm transformed into his primary weapon, a chain gun. He had pointed it at Breakaway who stood not too far down the street but his attention had soon been diverted to the incoming Decepticon jet, one that was zooming in for what was an obvious strafing run. Ratchet shifted his aim and opened fire, hammering as many high-powered rounds home as he could. Major Lennox stood in the direct path of the oncoming jet and immediately dropped the anti-aircraft missile launcher he had been holding and instead hefted up his rifle and started running. Both chain guns on the jet opened fire, cutting down several of the NEST soldiers and tearing through the makeshift barricade of vehicles that had been set up across the width of the street.

The other Decepticon jet…who was it? It was not Starscream, that was for certain. This jet was of an entirely different colour but was still an F-22, like Starscream but at the same time not him. No, this was someone else…someone new who had perhaps only arrived on Earth very recently. It occurred to Ratchet that ever since Centurion's arrival on Earth several other Decepticons were turning up as well, as if his arrival had heralded a whole new wave of them. It seemed likely that either Centurion had brought them with him or had transmitted into space to get their attention. Either way, it simply spelt further difficulty for the job the Autobots and their NEST allies had to face. More Decepticons meant more trouble.

The withering fire from the speeding jet caught up to Ratchet's position. He rolled out of the way as chunks of blacktop erupted nearby, high-powered rounds blasting into the road. Up ahead, Optimus, Smokescreen and Sideswipe had opened fire in Breakaway's direction but the ex-Autobot Seeker was moving quite swiftly, dodging the incoming blasts and missiles while simultaneously delivering a barrage of heavy weapons fire.

"Fall back!" Lennox shouted over the noise, waving at the remaining soldiers to retreat, "We have to call in air support!"

"Air support?" Epps asked, sounding incredulous, "They'll get hammered by those two psychos!" He was referring obviously to Breakaway and the other jet, both of which were proving to be quite a hassle to deal with. When they had arrived in this town, none of them had expected to go against two airborne enemies, especially one who had only a few days ago been on their side.

Ratchet held his ground as the NEST soldiers began to pull back, firing their rifles at Breakaway as they did so. Behind them, Bumblebee's carcass had been moved to the side of the road. Ratchet was yet to check the body for any signs of life but he doubted there were any. For most of his life he had seen some rather nasty things and was quite hardened towards it, perhaps more so than any of the other Autobots. When it came to losing a good friend, well…He simply took it as it came.

The other Decepticon jet was moving in for another pass. Ratchet could see that everyone else was preoccupied trying to deal with the surprisingly agile Breakaway, leaving him as the one left to deal with the incoming Decepticon jet.

Ratchet gave the robotic equivalent of a grunt as he swivelled around, taking aim at the jet. It was moving quite quickly, making it hard to track. From the way it was speeding towards him, he could see that it was going to swoop in and hammer away in his direction. Ratchet did not have time to move out of the way and so stood his ground, taking aim as he began to pound continuous fire onto the incoming Decepticon. Some of the rounds blew pieces away from the wings and fuselage but it kept coming, a pair of missiles shooting forth from under the wings.

Ratchet dived to one side as the missiles impacted the ground in front of him, a wave of fire completely filling his vision. Heat washed over him and the concussive force of the two blasts sent him off of his feet a short distance, sending him smashing through the front of the nearest warehouse. Bricks and metal debris rained down all around him and the air reeked of smoke. Ratchet's vision fuzzed momentarily as his optical systems attempted to reassert themselves. With some effort he rose to his feet, pushing chunks of rubble off of himself as he did so. Nearby, he caught a glimpse of the Decepticon jet but this time it was in full robot form. This Decepticon was distinctly feminine in appearance and mostly grey and black with a dark red trim. It stood on the roof of the warehouse across the street, its gaze directed onto him.

It made sense that Breakaway was being influenced by this Decepticon. Just by looking at her Ratchet could see that she was the manipulative type, this was clear just by the look in her optics. She seemed to be smiling, as if thinking of the many ways she could kill him. Ratchet briefly glanced over at where the others were, watching as the NEST soldiers began to fall back into the nearest structures. Breakaway had his rapid-fire arm cannon trained on Smokescreen, firing away almost recklessly as the Autobot raced for cover.

Ratchet returned his gaze to the Decepticon on the roof ahead. Their eyes met and they regarded each other carefully but briefly. Ratchet knew this only too well: they were trying to judge each other, to see just how much of an opponent they would be. Ratchet could tell that this Decepticon would be tricky to take on, especially since Ratchet was distinctly stuck trotting along on the ground while his opponent could fly at will.

Rather than delay any longer, Ratchet opened fire. Immediately his opponent jumped forth from the rooftop and landed with a loud _thump_ upon the road, sending cracks flowing through it and dust flying upwards. Again Ratchet stood his ground and simply adjusted his aim so that the rounds began to pound into the Decepticon's front.

She started running straight towards him and it did not take long for her to be upon him. Ratchet put away his chain-gun and brought out one of his razor sharp rotating circular blade weapons. He was just as well versed in close combat as the other Autobots, even if he was just a medic. The Decepticon ducked underneath the first swing he delivered and tackled him, bringing them both onto the ground.

Ratchet found her face near his and he quickly delivered a clean left hook straight into it, denting metal and sending a spray of energon flying forth. He began to scrape himself along the ground away from the Decepticon, freeing his right arm which held the spinning blade.

He was quite tired, especially after all that had happened in past days. The last thing he needed was to get caught up in some incredibly long duel, especially when he was feeling the way he was. As much as he would have preferred, he was not at the top of his game. This much was evident when he brought the blade in for another strike, hoping to cut it right across his opponent's chest. Instead she transformed her own right arm into a jagged but razor sharp sword and pelted his incoming blow away, following through and sending the blade slicing through Ratchet's front.

Ratchet stumbled, feeling the sharp singing pain at the newly created gash in his chest. It certainly was not his first but it annoyed him to see it since it was an indication that he was losing the fight, if only in a minor way at this point in time.

"Come on, Ratchet," The Decepticon spoke, her tone malevolent. Ratchet was startled to hear her speak his name but he quickly toned down this surprise, instead turning it into quiet resolve. He was not about to let himself lose in a fight, especially against a female. Sure, he was past petty rivalries like that…but losing would certainly not be good for his health.

"I thought you were better than that," the Decepticon said, holding up her blade to the light. Its serrated edges glinted brightly in the sun.

Ratchet brought out his other circular blade, holding one at each arm. Out on the street, Optimus, Sideswipe and Smokescreen continued to engage Breakaway, either side firing off shots at the other as they shifted from cover to cover.

Ratchet started to pace as his opponent did the same. Around them were the remains of the warehouse Ratchet had smashed a hole into, with rubble and crates littering the area around them. The Decepticon stopped and Ratchet did as well, taking note of the wooden boxes nearby. A good fighter used their environment to their advantage and Ratchet could tell that his opponent was simply too vain to do such a thing as that. No, she would simply have a go at him with his sword, if only to show herself that she had the skill to beat him.

The Autobot medic was quite determined to disallow himself from becoming another Autobot casualty. They had had enough of those in the past few days and with each one their chance of victory dwindled. Their numbers were small and each casualty left a gaping void, one that had little chance of ever being filled again. Why did they have to fight when their race was so close to extinction? Couldn't the Decepticons see that maybe peace was a better option?

No use trying to negotiate with the Decepticons. Instead, Ratchet decided to quit thinking about peace and resign himself to the fighting. Something told him that his opponent would be easy to incite to strike the first blow in this standoff, so Ratchet decided to try and coax her.

"Usually I'm a lot better," Ratchet said, his tone level, "But when I'm up against someone as stupid as you, I prefer to go easy…"

The Decepticon's features narrowed and she roared angrily, charging towards him. Immediately Ratchet kicked the set of crates near him in her direction, the sheer distraction being enough to throw off her concentration momentarily. She stumbled in her strides and Ratchet charged instead, sending both of his spinning razor sharp blades into her stomach area. She howled but Ratchet showed no remorse, delivering a sharp kick to her sliced up stomach which sent her flying out onto the street. She landed on a heap on the ground but was quick to get up, looking noticeably angrier.

Ratchet simply twirled both of his blades in an intimidating fashion, inciting her to charge him again. She was damned reckless, he could tell that much. He easily deflected her anger-driven blows, kicking her aside as he backed away slightly.

From behind her Ratchet saw Optimus step into view. Immediately the medic was thankful for the obvious help but this thought was quickly quelled by what happened next: Breakaway came charging into the partially destroyed warehouse, barging through a section of wall with ease and sending brick and metal debris flying outwards. He came from Ratchet's right and had his curved blade at the ready.

Optimus had both of his guns out and opened fire at the female Decepticon, knocking her down as Breakaway came at Ratchet from the right. Ratchet turned around and went to deflect the incoming blow but Breakaway was quick and noticeably more concentrated than his female friend had been, adjusting his attack so that Ratchet had little defence against it.

The blade came in swiftly and smoothly, slicing up into Ratchet's chest and impaling straight through it. Optimus was quick to blast Breakaway in the sword wielding arm, blowing the sword clean away and sending the ex-Autobot stumbling backwards. Ratchet grunted and fell to his side, clutching at the hot metal blade that was sticking through him. The pain was incredible and energon oozed freely from the wound. Being a medic, Ratchet would know how to handle this sort of thing…if it had happened to someone else. Now that it had happened to him his mind had gone almost completely blank. Instead, panicked thoughts began to flow through it, ones that were more or less telling him that he would die.

Smokescreen and Sideswipe came into view but the female Decepticon was on them in seconds, batting away Smokescreen's somewhat sloppy attempts to hit her with his blade. Sideswipe rolled in, both swords at the ready but he was suddenly knocked aside by a barrage of fire from Breakaway. The ex-Autobot stood nearby, obviously quite annoyed at the loss of his sword. It was now currently stuck through Ratchet, much to the detriment of the Autobot medic's health.

Ratchet put both hands to where the blade entered the front of his chest and pulled. He shouted involuntarily but continued to pull anyway, taking the blade out and tossing it aside as if it was boiling hot. It may as well have been since his chest was burning fiercely, the pain far exceeding anything he had dealt with in the past.

Optimus had one gun trained on Breakaway as the ex-Autobot put one hand to Ratchet's neck. The Autobot medic was lifted off of his feet and pinned to the nearest wall, barely able to fight off his aggressor in his weakened state. Energon fluid seeped freely from the massive gash that went right through him and it continued to burn him from the inside.

Breakaway's free hand was switched to its weapon mode and was pointed squarely towards Optimus. Smokescreen and Sideswipe each pulled their guns onto the female Decepticon but she was faster on the draw, switching both arms to their weapon modes and pointing one at Smokescreen and one at Sideswipe.

"Any of you move," Breakaway said, his voice laced with hate, "And I'll kill Ratchet. I'll tear his head right off…simple as that."

There was a brief silence. Ratchet put his hands towards the one Breakaway had gripping his neck but the ex-Autobot simply tightened his grip in response, his fingers beginning to slowly crush the metal at his throat…Ratchet did not like the idea of getting decapitated in the slightest and so lowered his arms. He would have to trust Optimus to defuse the situation, if that was even possible.

Lennox stepped into view at the front of the warehouse. He saw the two standoffs and raised his rifle, unsure of what target to pick. Epps, Graham and a trio of other NEST soldiers stepped into sight, all of them dirtied and tired from the battle. None were particularly certain of what to do about the current situation.

"Uh…Will, who do we shoot?" Graham chirped suddenly. William Lennox shrugged.

"Ah…I'm not sure…"

"We have to shoot someone," Epps quipped, "It's part of our job."

They kept their rifles raised but all of them kept shifting targets, uncertain of who to shoot and whether opening fire was a wise move or not.

The humans were mostly ignored by the Cybertronians in the warehouse. Breakaway's grip tightened rather uncomfortably around Ratchet's neck and the Autobot medic began to doubt his chances of survival. He did not want to die…who did? What made his predicament worse was the fact that he was one of the most vital assets to the Autobots here on Earth: he was their _medic_ and without him they would die of easily treatable wounds. They needed him and he did not want to let them down. His death could cripple the Autobot forces profoundly. What annoyed him most was the fact that he did not want to let them down…He wanted to stay alive, if only to fulfil his duty on the team. And here he was, in agonizing pain and at the mercy of a psychotic Seeker. It seemed that things just kept getting worse and worse for NEST and the Autobots.

He could tell by the way that Optimus was surveying the situation that he was thinking the same thing. Optimus kept his gun pointed at Breakaway but there was noticeable doubt on his features about what to do. Smokescreen and Sideswipe still stood with their weapons aimed at the other Decepticon but they were in the same sort of situation, with the Decepticon training a gun at both of them.

"Well, this is certainly an interesting situation we're in," Breakaway said, keeping his grip tight at Ratchet's neck, "No one can shoot anyone without everybody else shooting each other. This…this I like."

Optimus kept his weapon raised and showed no sign of lowering it. Such a move would probably give Breakaway an excuse to shoot him.

"Let Ratchet go…."

"For what reason?" Breakaway asked, not at all in the mood to listen to Optimus, "So you have a chance to shoot me without any harm coming to your friend here? Because, I must say…just by looking at Ratchet, it seems he could very well die without prompt attention. He is bleeding all over the place, for one…"

Optimus seemed to sigh. He took a slight step forwards but Breakaway tightened his grip around Ratchet's neck as a result. Ratchet felt the pressure and the squeeze on his energon lines as the flow began to slow down, leaving his head feeling relatively lighter than usual. Ratchet's wounds continued to bleed freely, energon oozing down his front and dripping onto the floor. If it kept up…well, Ratchet would need some sort of medical attention soon. He could administer it himself but it would de tricky.

"What has gotten into you, Breakaway?" Optimus asked, "We were friends. You were an Autobot…But now…"  
"Now what?" Breakaway's temper flared suddenly. Ratchet felt further pressure at his neck and began to struggle but in his weakened state he could do little about his predicament.

"You think I came to Earth just so I could join up with your pathetic force of Autobots?" Breakaway asked, "Maybe that was the first reason I came here. But now…now things have changed. I am no longer one of your soldiers, Prime. And I'm not about to relegate myself to working for Megatron or Centurion either. No…I have other things planned. _We_ have other things planned." He nodded towards the other Decepticon and glanced towards her, smiling noticeably. "Don't we, Slipstream?"

The Decepticon known as Slipstream simply nodded. Optimus digested the information and simply shook his head, as if in pity of Breakaway. Ratchet looked towards the Prime, the look in his eyes asking for some help. Ratchet could feel his strength leaving him, slowly but surely. The fact that his neck was slowly being crushed did not help his situation either.

"You've gone rogue?" Optimus raised an eyebrow ridge, suitably surprised. "That is…unwise." He delivered the last statement in a level tone, keeping his gaze on Breakaway as he spoke.

"Unwise? I don't think so," Breakaway replied, "It isn't unwise when you have everything planned. Everything is going the way it should. Soon enough, Slipstream and I will have all the power we could ever want and we will rule this pathetic insect planet…"

"Here we go with the cliché bad guy stuff," Epps interjected, shaking his head.

"And Unicron…"

"Again with this 'Unicron' guy," Lennox said, "Really, I'm getting sick of hearing about him. If he's as bad as you guys say he is, I think it's best if we all just left him out of the picture. Things are complicated enough as it is without some planet-eating evil bastard to worry about. Seriously…Does bringing him along sound like a good idea?"

There was a brief silence. Breakaway seemed to take in Lennox's words but if he was actually going to heed them was unknown. Optimus kept his gaze focused on Breakaway, weapon pointed straight at the ex-Autobot's face. Breakaway had his gun pointed straight into the Prime's face, sort of like a standoff from a John Woo movie.

"Breakaway…Please…" Ratchet struggled to speak in his weakening state. Breakaway only just glanced at him, barely paying attention. "Think about what you are doing…Just for a moment…Think about it. That Decepticon…Slipstream…she's influencing you. Can't you see that?"

"Breakaway gets influenced by a Decepticon bitch," Epps interjected, "Something tells me it wasn't his fault."

"Don't listen to them, Breakaway," Slipstream spat, "They're just trying to get you to betray me. You wouldn't betray me, would you? You love me, I can tell…You wouldn't betray me, would you, _lover_?"

"That's real cute," Epps said sarcastically before frowning, "But sort of weird at the same time."

Breakaway looked at Slipstream and then at Ratchet. The Autobot medic could see the contradiction on his features, as if Breakaway was torn between what to do. Ratchet could tell that Breakaway was not evil at heart…quite far from it in fact. There was the fact that Slipstream was influencing him and maybe, just maybe if that influence was removed Breakaway might see some sense.

"Slipstream showed me the truth," Breakaway said suddenly. Ratchet felt some of the hope that had built inside him die suddenly. Breakaway was beyond saving, especially when Slipstream was around. There had to be a way to save him from his corruption…but somehow Ratchet doubted that there was.

Breakaway had gone missing earlier today…only to return changed. Maybe if he had not have been sent out to investigate what had been going on off the coast of California he would still be on the side of the Autobots. Even Ratchet could see that Breakaway had been a useful asset, being the only flight capable Autobot on Earth. And now here he was, threatening to kill Ratchet and acting completely out of character. Something must have snapped inside him. Insanity in Cybertronians was not unheard of…Centurion was prime evidence of this.

"She and myself…We have plans. Great plans. And the one thing we don't need is any of you Autobots getting in our way." Breakaway released Ratchet suddenly, letting the Autobot drop onto the floor. Ratchet crumpled into a heap, clutching at his bleeding wound and doing his best to stem the energon flow.

"Breakaway, you backstabbing piece of sh—" Sideswipe began, his metallic features bent into an angered scowl. The last word was drowned out as he raised one arm and transformed it into a cannon. His other arm cannon was still pointed at Slipstream. Sideswipe fired and the shot slammed into Breakaway's chest, making him stumble backwards as a result.

Chaos ensued from then on. Slipstream fired both of her guns, blasting a chunk out of Sideswipe and blowing a portion from Smokescreen's front. Simultaneously, Smokescreen fired and blew a hole in Slipstream's side. She stumbled and shouted, swivelling around as Smokescreen recovered from the shot that had hit him in the chest. She levelled both guns in his direction and pulled the triggers, both shots connecting with Smokescreen with enough force to knock him backwards.

Sideswipe was on Slipstream within seconds, both swords at the ready as he delivered two smooth and sweeping strikes. One blade sliced into her left arm, cutting it halfway through. Energon fluid sprayed out and she screamed, turning around as Sideswipe brought his other blade into her stomach. With it stuck through her she stumbled yet Sideswipe kept the blade attached to him, pulling it up her stomach slightly and sending another yelp of pain out of her. However, Slipstream was not easily beaten and grabbed the blade with both her hands, pulling it off of Sideswipe's arm. She delivered a powerful left hook into Sideswipe's face, making the Autobot stumble while she used her right hand to pull the blade from her.

Without much effort she spun the blade around in her right hand and threw it with surprising speed, sending it straight into Sideswipe's chest. It stuck him to the far wall and he clutched at it, almost surprised to see that it was _his_ blade that was stuck in him and not someone else's.

"Damn…" He muttered. It took him a moment to pull the blade out of his chest, stepping off of the wall and reattaching the blade to its rightful place on one of his arms.

"Slipstream!" Breakaway shouted, worried for his new friend's safety. He opened fire at Smokescreen who was only just beginning to recover from the other shots he had taken. He stumbled as several high-powered rounds slammed into him and he fell, landing in a heap by the NEST soldiers who were standing nearby. All of the humans immediately opened fire at Breakaway, rifle rounds pinging off of his armour.

Optimus pulled out his other gun, pointing both at Breakaway and charging up both weapons. He released the triggers and both shots blasted into Breakaway's side, making him spin slightly where he stood. Breakaway returned fire and Optimus felt the sting of several high-powered rounds punch into his front.

Breakaway started running, grabbing Slipstream and pushing her out onto the street. Optimus tracked the two targets, continuing to fire regardless of the pain he could feel at his chest where he had taken several hits.

Both enemies kicked aside any of the human soldiers who got into their way. Slipstream was the first to transform, roaring away in her jet form. Breakaway managed one last look at the other Autobots before doing the same, speeding away before anyone else had a chance to open fire.

As the smoke cleared, it was obvious that something had gone horribly wrong somewhere. A previous ally had turned enemy and the group had almost been killed…Ratchet groaned, sitting up and taking a look down at himself. The gash was nasty looking and still bled freely. In fact, he found he could fit a few of his fingers into it and feel his insides. It was unnerving to think that he was on the verge of death.

Sideswipe put a hand where the blade had impaled him, simply shaking his head. He was in denial that his own skills had failed him and that he had practically fell victim to his own blade. For someone as confident as Sideswipe, the morale blow was quite high.

Smokescreen was looking somewhat worse for wear but was still well and alive, bearing the wounds of where he had taken several shots. Most had hit him in the chest, tearing through his armour and sending energon fluid and molten metal oozing forth. From the scrunched up look on his features it seemed that he was trying his best to suck up the pain and not yell or groan.

Optimus rushed to Ratchet's side, looking down at his friend with an obvious look of concern. Lennox and Epps stepped up alongside, both of them looking suitably demoralised.

"This whole situation's gotten out of hand," Lennox said, "Breakaway's betrayed us? What an…"

"…Asshole?" Epps suggested.

Ratchet looked up at Optimus, trying his best to keep optimistic despite the Prime's concern.

"I can treat this myself," Ratchet said before Optimus could say anything.

"You can't…"

"I _can_," Ratchet interrupted, "Besides, I'm the only one who knows how. I don't recall you having much in the way of medical expertise, Optimus."

Optimus did not reply immediately. Instead, he stood up and looked towards Sideswipe and Smokescreen. Both of them were looking somewhat downbeat.

"Both of you are to help Ratchet," Optimus said, "He can't fix himself up by himself."

Both Autobots nodded and stepped over to where Ratchet was slumped. Optimus started outside, Lennox and Epps following. Outside, the sky was beginning to darken into twilight as evening came closer. The day was almost over but the situation with Centurion…it was nowhere near finished.

"So, what are we supposed to do now?" Epps asked, sounding a little annoyed.

"Centurion is around here somewhere," Optimus said, gazing at the street around them, "I can feel it."

"We're in no state to take on Centurion," Lennox said, "I think it's best if we just regroup somewhere out of town with the others and work out where to go from there. If Sam is really prisoner of Megatron…"

"He'd be dead by now," Optimus said simply. This statement came as a bit of a surprise to Lennox and Epps but the group knew that it could very well be true.

"What about Deadeye and Depthcharge?" Epps asked, "They could be around here somewhere…"

Optimus seemed to take a moment to think about this, as if mention of his apparent son had struck a chord in him.

"We'll find them," he said simply.


	11. Motel

**Motel  
**Las Vegas, Nevada  
December 16th, 2010

The purple of the twilight sky was sparsely dotted with stars, with many completely invisible because of the bright city lights of Las Vegas. The city was spread across a large chunk of open desert, surrounded on all sides by barren plains dotted with mesa and rocky ridges. Highways criss-crossed the landscape, winding through valleys and over hills. The outskirts of Las Vegas mostly consisted of the more industrial side, with warehouses and so forth. There were plenty of residential areas and the deeper one went into the heart of the city, the more bright lights and tall buildings there were to be found. Practically every skyscraper in the city was some sort of casino or hotel or a hybrid of both, the sides of these buildings covered with glossy windows and shiny, flashing lights. Expensive water features, valet parking, drunken hoodlums…all of these things and many more were to be found in Las Vegas, especially during the night.

There was a motel on a street corner close to the southern part of the city. It was a large, three storey building with a rather cheapskate "retro" appearance to it. The colour scheme consisted of mostly blues and greys but at this hour the dull paintjob was contrasted with a bright neon sign out the front: MOTEL, VACANY. There was a swimming pool at one corner of the motel's grounds, one that was barely used and barely maintained. As such the bottom of the pool was rather dirty and the water itself slightly murky. Even so there were still a few people on the seats by the pool, chatting loudly and drinking heavily. Discarded bottles of assorted variants of booze littered the ground, some only hours old and others having been lying in place for months, having since found themselves a nice nook in the garden to remain idle. It was certainly one of the cheapest and less desirable motels in the area and as such it was the perfect place for people to lay low. In Las Vegas, there were always people trying to lay low and so motels like this received good business as a result.

At this time traffic on the main roads and freeways could be quite frantic, especially since it was nearing Christmas. As a result, the luxury dark red four door saloon car that was in fact the Autobot known as Deadeye took the closest exit off of the freeway, turning to the front of the cheap motel before halting in the front parking lot. Inside the car, James Turner sat in the driver's seat, sitting back as he went to switch off the radio.

"_Love…is a burning thing…and it makes…a fiery ring…Bound by wild desire…I fell into a ring of fire…"_ The song ended abruptly as James pressed the appropriate button. The interior of the car/Autobot suddenly fell silent and the priest's gaze went slowly to the person seated in the passenger seat.

Sam Witwicky had been quiet most of the trip. In fact, it was sensible to say that he had become quite withdrawn in the last few hours. Sure, spending a few hours seated in a luxury car whilst driving across lengthy desert highways could be dull but even so, Sam was looking quite tired and miserable. The trip here had been boring and James' butt was numb as a result, despite the relative luxury of the chairs.

The right sleeve of Sam's T-shirt was soaked noticeably with blood. There was that definite and most obvious silvery metallic look of his right arm with all the nooks and joints that a Cybertronian would have for an arm. James creased his features with a look of concern, especially when he saw how pale Sam was looking. Sure, he had only known the young man for about half a day but even so witnessing what was obviously a painful transformation struck a sympathetic chord within James. He wanted to help…and yet he knew he could not. The only thing he could hope for was divine intervention and well…if God wanted to intervene he would have done it already.

Was that a hint of doubt inside the mind of the old priest? James shook his head. The last thing he needed was to doubt his own faith. Faith was what kept him going, especially now that he had become embroiled in some sort of intergalactic war against a few near unstoppable bad guys. That Autobot, Bumblebee, had been close to Sam. Quite close. To see someone's best friend die had a rather demoralising effect, especially when there had been some spark of hope during the battle. Bumblebee had been outnumbered three to one and yet he had managed to hold his own, despite taking a beating. Now he was dead…and apparently he was not the first Autobot to die. Sam had not said much but Jones Marshall, who was seated in the back, had asked a few questions to clear some of these matters up. It was via this way he and James had learnt from Sam about the two factions, the "Autobots" and the "Decepticons" and how the Autobots were more or less the "good guys". Bumblebee had been Sam's close friend and guardian and had died as a result of that position: in his attempts to protect Sam, Bumblebee had died in battle.

That might have been despair inducing enough but now Sam was undergoing some sort of painful transformation. He had collapsed earlier and had even tried cutting off his own mutating arm with an axe. James could only feel sympathy for the young guy: Sam did not deserve to suffer through it. Did he not have parents and a girlfriend? How would he get by in harsh human society when he looked like some sort of hybrid?

James took a look back at Jones Marshall, who had unsurprisingly fallen asleep in the backseat. Jones' head was lulled to one side, a trickle of drool falling from one corner of his mouth. To James, it seemed that Jones was perhaps the most unwilling of the group. This was unsurprising since Jones had been more or less dragged into this whole mess when he discovered that his new car had in fact been Deadeye the Autobot.

"_Las Vegas,"_ Deadeye chirped via the speakers on the dashboard, _"We're here."_

Jones Marshall was jolted out of sleep by this sudden exclamation, looking around rather stupidly for a moment before regaining his bearings. He looked at James and then at Sam before returning his gaze towards the windshield.

"Is it just me, or does he have a British accent?" Jones asked, nodding towards the radio.

Sam was busy taking a look at his new Cybertronian arm and so did not pay Jones much attention. He did not pay James much attention either and instead flexed his metal fingers, including the stump of the pinky finger he had cut off with an axe earlier. James could only watch him with a frown, still annoyed at himself for being unable to help the poor guy. Even now there were silvery-grey blotches appearing at the flesh at Sam's neck and shoulder, hinting that the transformation would not stop at the arm.

"Well, this is perhaps the cheapest motel on this side of town," James said. He reached into his jacket and retrieved his wallet, rifling through its contents. He prided himself on being organized but when it came to his wallet he was rather careless: Stacks of receipts, some a year old, took up the main space in the wallet while numerous cards including credit, debit and library cards were jammed into the slits on one half of the inside of the brown wallet. James flicked through the old receipts, throwing a few on the floor of the car as he went. Finally he came to some actual cash and pulled it all out, counting it quickly in his hands.

"Unfortunately, cheap is all we're going to be able to afford," James said, "I don't know about you guys but I have about three hundred bucks. That should be enough for a day or two here for the three of us, unless any of you two have a fortune hidden somewhere I don't know about…"

Sam was drawn out of his reverie of thought and used his Cybertronian right arm to reach into a pocket in his jeans. He remembered then and there that he had lost his wallet at the warehouse during his brief stint as Megatron's captive. Sighing, he simply shook his head. When he spoke his voice sounded slightly raspy, as if there was something wrong with his throat.

"I haven't got any fucking cash," he said, shaking his head, "Better yet, I've lost my whole wallet." He paused, taking a brief look outside. Frowning, he returned his gaze to James.

"What kind of cheap-ass motel did you bring us to?" He asked.

James shook his head.

"It wasn't me," James said, "It was Deadeye." He tapped the top of the dashboard for emphasis. "He brought us here and I think he made a good decision. Cheap motels can be sort of 'homey', you know? Cosy, modest…that sort of thing. What were you expecting? The Ritz?"

"After what I've been through, I think I deserve some kind of luxury," Sam replied, his tone noticeably sour. James could understand his annoyance, especially since it appeared that all had gone wrong in Sam Witwicky's life. Bumblebee was dead, the bad guys were still at large and Sam was slowly turning into some sort of hybrid…Things could certainly be better.

"This car's pretty luxurious," Jones interjected from the back seat, "If you want Sam, you could sleep in here…"

"Uh…No. I'd prefer a proper room."

"That's settled it then," James said, "We rent out a room here and try and figure out what we're going to do next. I know that RoboWarrior…"

"_Simmons_…His name's Simmons. This 'RoboWarrior' name is just some Internet alias he made for himself." Sam corrected.

James had never expected Sam, of all people, to know the true identity of his most reliable source. "RoboWarrior" had been the name this reliable source used to call himself, both over the phone and on the Internet. James had been hoping to meet this man in person and had been preparing to leave for Las Vegas when Sam Witwicky had barged into his life. Turns out RoboWarrior's real name John Reginald Simmons, "Reggie" to his friends and ex-Sector Seven agent. If anyone could help them now it would be Simmons and, thanks to a government pension he was living the high-life in Las Vegas. According to Sam, Simmons had been demoted to working in his mother's deli the last time the young man had met him.

"Alias or not, he's our only chance of getting some proper help," James said, "Every tip-off he's given me has turned out to be correct. He led me to that artefact that Centurion asshole took off of me back at the church. He's a reliable source and I think he's doing it…Well, I mean that he's giving me tip-offs so I can follow up on these leads he discovers primarily so he doesn't put himself in harm's way. In essence, I'm doing his work for him but I don't mind that. I enjoy the danger."  
"If he's living in Las Vegas, then I can see why he doesn't want to put himself in harm's way," Jones interjected, "It's just not worth it. Not when you've got a lot of money and a lot of things to spend it on."

"Simmons will have the answers we're looking for," James continued, "Hopefully he'll be able to link us up with—"

"NEST," Sam interrupted again, "He'll be able to link us up with NEST."

"NEST?"

"NEST is the organization that's in league with the Autobots. Top secret military stuff, that sort of thing."

"Yes, but it strikes me that this 'NEST' organization don't know anything about what's going on," James said. In his eyes, this was certainly true: If there was some sort of military organization in on this alien robot business then they would most certainly have done something about all the trouble that happened back in Tranquility. They might have even known about the artefact and Colonel Weller's operation in the New Mexico desert.

"It's better if we get in touch with Simmons," James continued, "Because I certainly don't have any direct line to NEST."

"We could call them!" Jones suggested, blurting out this suggestion rather abruptly.

James shook his head, raising an eyebrow in Jones' direction.

"And I suppose you have the Pentagon's phone number?" James asked, "Or, better yet, the White House's phone number? That way we could just call the President and say…" He mimed putting a phone to one ear, smiling meekly as he did it. "_Hey, Mr. President, there's a bunch of crazy ass robots on the loose in Nevada while a friend of mine's turning into one of them and some crazy military Colonel's after some alien artefact. Maybe you ought to call those friends of yours that can actually do something about it, huh? You know, what do they call themselves…NEST? What the hell does 'NEST' stand for anyway?"_

Jones frowned, slightly annoyed at the priest's attitude. Sam had returned his attention towards the aching pain at his arm and the slight stinging occurring towards his shoulder. It was spreading up his arm, albeit slowly. Almost hair-thin silver veins went from where the transformation met his organic flesh, only a mere few inches from the shoulder.

"Well, I don't know about trusting this 'Simmons' guy," Jones replied, "Besides, why the hell do I have to tag along for anyway? I'm an innocent bystander! I was dragged into this bullshit because my car was a fucking ALIEN ROBOT!" Jones was raising his voice now, as if all those emotions that had been building up inside him were beginning to finally erupt. Sam simply sat back in his seat and watched Jones from the corner of his vision, otherwise he paid him little attention. Whining twenty-five year olds were the least of his worries.

"How the hell is that fair?" Jones continued, his normally docile features beginning to show evidence of distress, "I was hoping to live a normal life, maybe go to college, get a girl, get married, have kids, live happily ever after? And now I'm in some sort of insane situation involving government agents, crazy old priests and giant alien robots! It sounds like something out of a bad movie!"

James gave a stern, hardliner frown towards Jones. It was a hard enough stare to silence the twenty-five year old as was the accusing finger the priest pointed his way.

"You're in this now, alright?" James said, delivering it as more of a statement than a proper question, "You're in this and there is no way you're getting out of it. We're all in this and we're all in it _together_."

"They know who you are," Sam said suddenly. He glanced Jones' way.

"What?"

"The Decepticons…They know who you are. They know who I am. They know who James is. And when they see you, they're going to know you've got connections to me. That's why we all have to lay low. All three of us, since they can use just one of us to get to the others. They want me, and I sure as hell ain't giving myself over to them. At least, the situation hasn't called for that just yet…" Sam trailed off, realizing that maybe he was being a bit too pessimistic. Still, there was something in the way he was saying it that hinted in his true confidence in them escaping their predicament: the only way they would get out of it is if the Decepticons got what they wanted. They wanted Sam Witwicky and they would not stop until they got him.

"Look," James said, breaking the silence that had fallen between the three of them, "No one's giving themselves up. There is not a chance in hell that I'm going to let you hand yourself over to them. Whatever's happening to you it can be fixed. There _has_ to be a way to fix it. I'm certain it has something to do with that Matrix thing…"

"Yeah, it does," Sam replied, "But the Matrix blew apart in my hand."

"And my guess is, whatever power it had is now inside of you." James pointed a finger at Sam for emphasis, his eyes delivering their usual steely gaze. "That's why the Decepticons want you. Chances are, you hand yourself over to them and they're going to use that power to do whatever it is they're planning to do. I assume their plan involves wiping out the human race. That's why we can't let you fall into their hands…At least, _I'm_ not going to let you fall into their hands. And I think you should be working along the same lines. No one turns themselves in, no matter what the enemy uses to try and coax you into doing so."

"That's easier said than done," Sam replied, "Last time, the Decepticons tried using my own parents against me."

"And they'll probably do that again," James said, "But you have to look at the big picture, Sam: They get you and they'll enslave humanity. If your parents have to die then what's a few deaths compared to saving the lives of millions?"

Sam was silent for a moment. There were obviously conflicting thoughts floating around in his mind and he was trying to sort them all out. There was a noticeable delay in the response he gave. James thought for a moment that he might have come across as a little demanding, even though he was quite serious with what he was saying. A few deaths, even those of close relatives, would be nothing compared to saving the lives of millions.

"Are you saying that I have to sacrifice my parents to ensure humanity's survival?"

"Question is, son, would you do it if it came down to it? Or would you give the bad guys what they wanted, in this case you, and doom humanity forever?"

There was a long silence after that. James' gaze met with Sam's and the pair watched each other for what seemed like a long time, despite the fact that it was only about thirty seconds in actuality. Jones was the one to break the silence in his usually abrupt manner.

"Chances are, these Decepticon guys are going to destroy humanity trying to get him," Jones said, "Then what? He hands himself over so they can use whatever powers he has? Either way, they're going to get him. It's a no win situation."

"There's always a way out of a situation," James replied, "There's no such thing as a 'no win' situation. Saying something's 'no win' is just an indication that you've given up. I sure haven't given up and I don't intend on doing so. Not after all that's happened today and all that could very well happen from here on."

"Always a way out of a situation? Like in _MacGyver_?" Jones asked.

James ignored the question and pushed open his side's door, stepping out into the cool evening air. The sounds of the city were all there: the car's speeding by, the agitated drivers honking horns, the distant wail of police car sirens…The air smelt of a typical city air mix of gasoline, greenery and people.

James went around the car. Sam stepped out and James looked towards him, glancing at his transforming arm. It was definitely noticeable, even at a distance. In this day and age most people might not think much of it but the blood on the shirt was a dead giveaway. Usually people took notice of other people who walked around in blood-soaked clothing.

"You've lost a lot of blood," James said, "No wonder you're so pale…"

"I'll be fine," Sam replied rather defensively, "I just don't know how I'm going to get around in public like this."

"That's why you're going to stay at the motel room," James said, starting for the motel's office (a bright neon sign at one side of the parking lot pointed him in its direction).

"The motel room?" Sam sounded a little incredulous towards this. "What the hell am I going to do there?"

James just shrugged and continued walking. Sam sighed, flexing his Cybertronian arm in an effort to get rid of the aching pain he could feel in it. The pain did not subside.

"_I'll keep a look out for anything suspicious,"_ Deadeye said.

Sam started following James, trying his best to put his arm out of sight. Finally he simply slipped it into his shirt, letting the blood-soaked sleeve hang limply by his side. Jones was a few paces behind, almost tripping over the gutter as the trio stepped off of the blacktop and onto the path that ran along the motel building.

An elderly bearded man in thick dark clothes stood by the door into the office, smoking a cigarette. He watched as the trio approached, barely taking note of Sam's bloodied clothing although his gaze did flit to it briefly. It seemed plausible that this man did not think of the reason behind Sam's bloodied shirt as any of his business.

"Wait out here," James said, glancing at Sam. Sam stopped and began to wait, taking note of a nearby vending machine.

"You got any change?" He asked.

James fished some coins out of one pocket and handed them to Sam.

"Thanks." Sam headed towards the vending machine.

James turned around and nodded towards the old man standing outside of the office.

"Good evening," James said. The old man simply looked at him, nodded slightly and then returned to puffing away on his cigarette. James walked past him and into the light and warmth of the motel office. Jones followed him inside.

The office was of reasonable size, with a counter at the end and a few seats scattered throughout. A television was switched on in the corner and a news update was playing, delivering what was apparently breaking news whilst interrupting the scheduled program:

"_There is yet to be any official statement from the military but so far information on the simultaneous terrorist attacks on the West Coast, including in Tranquility, Nevada and on a military base in Arizona remains vague. No terrorist groups have claimed responsibility, nor are there any real links between the attacks. It has been suggested that the recent bombings in the Netherlands and Austria may be connected and many experts have hinted that there is a major terrorist plot in action, one that could yield a terrible toll, perhaps the worst the world has ever seen. So far, details on the casualties caused by these events remain uncertain but the number is estimated to include four hundred dead and three hundred wounded, many of them military personnel…"_

James glanced at the television, catching a glimpse of the news reader and the headline at the bottom: 'AMERICA UNDER SIEGE: UNKNOWN TERRORISTS WREAK HAVOC IN WESTERN U.S.A.' He knew immediately that the aforementioned attacks in Europe and now here in the United States were not mere coincidences. No, there was something much larger and profound afoot. He had a feeling that the consequences of what happened would be felt worldwide.

Approaching the counter, James arrived nearly face-to-face with a young dark haired man in a blue checkered shirt and dark trousers. The motel's obvious owner looked at him, having been watching the television. He saw James' priest outfit and delivered a typical customer-service smile.

"Good evening, sir…Or should I say, 'Father'? Or 'Reverend'? Or…"

"Sir's good enough," James replied.

The motel owner nodded. James noticed the tag on the man's shirt: JERRY.

"How can I help you?" Jerry asked, "You wanna rent a room or use the bathroom or get spare change for the vending machines? Whatever you want, I think I could help you out…"  
"I'm after a room," James said, "One with at least three beds, or two beds and a couch or one bed and two couches…Whatever you have available."

Jerry regarded him briefly, keeping on his friendly face as he shifted his gaze to Jones who was standing a few paces behind.

"He's with you?" Jerry asked.

"Yes, he's with me," James replied almost instantly, "He's my…uh…son. Yeah, he's my son. I've also got his brother hanging around outside."

James smiled, doing his best to sound convincing. Why did he have to lie anyway? Maybe it was just because he was feeling a bit anxious, maybe it was because he thought he was being watched…No, he _knew_ he was being watched. James could not be absolutely certain but he knew that someone was watching him. Then again, he always felt like that: since when was no one being watched by someone? There were people everywhere, surveillance cameras everywhere…Privacy was a hard thing to come by these days.

"Well, the three of you should find room 15A to your liking," Jerry said, turning around and taking a look at the shelves behind him. He removed a key off of a hook on the wall nearby and turned back around, handing it to James. Once he had done that he bent down and retrieved a thick ledger from underneath the counter, depositing it onto the counter and opening it to the appropriate date. He handed James a pen and pointed at where to sign in.

"Just sign your name there and make a deposit of at least twenty dollars," Jerry explained, "And you can have your room."

James signed, made the deposit and handed Jerry back the pen. Jerry smiled although this time around the smile was quite unnerving. James managed a false smile back.  
"Enjoy your stay," Jerry said. James managed one more look towards the television, just in time to see a video of the destruction that had been caused at a military base in Arizona. The reporter spoke over the video as fires burned and smoke plumed upwards:

"_Fort Phoenix Point was attacked by an unknown enemy force earlier today, leaving the base in ruins and at least fifty-seven members of the personnel stationed there dead. No official statements have been made about the incident…"_

Jerry took note of James' interest in the news item.

"Whole world's going to hell, don't you think?" Jerry asked.

"Sorry?" James asked, having not quite been listening.

"With all these attacks and deaths…There's never any good news anymore. It's all bad news: People dying, places getting bombed or hit by natural disasters. And now it looks like some group's invaded the country…"

"Yeah, well…I guess you can say that shit happens," James said. Jerry simply laughed, leaving the priest with a slight grin on his face. That feeling of being watched did not leave him.

James turned around and left the office, Jones following close behind. Sam stood a short distance from the door into the office, a can of coke in his left hand. His right arm was still concealed inside of his shirt. The old man from earlier still stood nearby, smoking a cigarette and remaining completely silent.

"You get a room?" Sam asked as James approached. In response, James held up the key to room 15A. Sam took it from him and the trio looked around, finding the signs that pointed them up to the third floor to where room 15A was located. At the door Sam inserted the key into the lock and turned it, pushing open the door and stepping into a musty smelling motel room. There was a lounge/bedroom area and a bathroom that was separated from the rest of the suite by a door that had trouble closing. The ceiling had a few damp looking places and the carpet was thick with dust, clouds of the stuff erupting forth with each footstep.

Jones was the last one in and closed the door behind them. He stepped over to the television and switched it on.

"Well, at least we got a colour television," he said in a rather snarky manner.

Sam sat himself down on the couch, sending much dust floating upwards as he did so. He put his right arm back through his shirt sleeve, taking the chance to once again look carefully at what was happening to it. James closed the curtains over the window at the front of the room and flicked on the light. A lone moth fluttered around the ceiling, constantly hitting itself against the light fixture.

"Okay, now that we actually have somewhere to stay I think we can finally get down to business," James said, standing by the couch. He could not help but watch as Sam continued to pick at the area where the metal met flesh on his transforming arm. It was unnerving to think that someone could actually turn into one of those Cybertronians…Then again, Sam might not even be turning into one of them. Whatever was happening to him required immediate attention.

"Sam, you're going to have to stay here while I go see Simmons," James said, looking down at where Sam was sitting.

"Stay? Yeah, sure, that's great. I can stay, maybe watch some TV…" He picked up the television remote from the table in front of the couch, flicking through the available channels. "How about some _Stargate _reruns or some _Who Wants to be a Millionaire_?" Sam's tone grew increasingly more annoyed. "I guess I can stay here, sit on my lazy ass and slowly and painfully turn into something I'm not while you go out onto the Vegas Strip. Why do I see a problem with that?"

James sighed although he could understand Sam's annoyance. Sure, James had not been planning on gambling but it would be easy to get distracted in a city like Las Vegas.

"Vegas Strip?" Jones sounded pleased and he looked at James. "I'm coming with you priest man since I sure ain't staying here with grumpy." He nodded towards Sam.

"Grumpy?" Sam shook his head. "You try to be happy when you start turning into…into…" He trailed off, taking a look at his Cybertronian-esque right arm. "Shit, I don't even know what's happening to me."

"We're not going out there to gamble," James said, "We're going out there to find Simmons. According to the address he gave me, he has a place on the north edge of town. We should make it there pretty fast if we take the freeway…"

"Does that mean you're taking Deadeye?" Sam asked. "Damn it, what if Centurion shows up and I'm all by myself here? I'm screwed if that happens."

"Well, a cab would take a hell of a lot longer," James said, "Besides, I intend on bringing Simmons here, that way we can all work together to try and formulate some way of getting out of this predicament. That means we should be no more than half an hour…"

"Half an hour too long," Sam said, "Chances are by the time you get back the Decepticons would have found me."

"Quit being such a pessimist, alright?" James asked. He was beginning to feel the pressure of the situation they were in weigh on his mind. He had been trying to keep a straight face and keep his cool the whole time but it was all beginning to slowly falter. He had to be strong, for the three of them: Sam was miserable and Jones was probably clueless as to the full extent of the trouble they were in. Then again, James was not entirely sure about the full extent of it either.

"I'll be back, okay?" James said, "In half an hour I'll come back with your old buddy Simmons. He'll have the answers…"

"Yeah, I'm sure he will," Sam replied. Judging by his tone it was obvious he did not think that Simmons would have the answers to solve their predicament. James could not help but question why they had come out here but it occurred to him that they had needed to go somewhere. Las Vegas had seemed like a good idea to James…before Sam and Jones had showed up. After that things had gotten a little hectic.

"We're going to turn this situation around," James said, starting for the door. Jones followed him. "We're going to find some help for you, Sam, even if it's the last thing I do."  
Sam watched the pair leave. He was not sure what to think, especially since he was full of conflicting emotions. He had already cried enough about what had happened so he was past that stage…Now he was feeling suitably pissed off towards the world around him. How could Simmons help him? It's not like the ex-Sector Seven agent would have a magic cure to fix Sam right up and stop the transformation.

And so Sam was left alone in the motel room. He still had some of the loose change that James had given him earlier so he decided that he would try calling his parents or maybe Mikaela. He could tell them what was going on. Finishing off his coke, he burped loudly and waited a few more minutes before getting up. The transformation he was going through seemed to be sapping most of his energy, leaving him feeling tired and exhausted. The Cybertronian right arm of his contrasted greatly with the rest of his human form. If he was indeed turning into some sort of human-sized Cybertronian, then just what kind was he becoming? An Autobot or a Decepticon?

Even with that unnerving implication in his mind, Sam gathered the courage to head outside and go for the payphones downstairs. He needed to call someone, especially since he had been stuck in the situation with two people he barely knew. One was a kooky old priest and the other was a clueless nobody. How much worse could this situation get?

Such thoughts were unwise, he knew, since chances are things could get worse. He failed to notice the black SUV parked across the street from the motel, perhaps because it blended so well into the dark of the evening. His mind was too concentrated on what he would tell his parents over the phone, or Mikaela for that matter.


	12. Simmons

**Simmons  
**Las Vegas, Nevada  
December 16th, 2010

Jones Marshall had never been to Las Vegas before. Sure, he had seen it in movies and television shows as most people had but he had never actually been to the city. He had always been curious as to what it was like, whether it was as crazy a place as it was often made out to be. Maybe in different circumstances he might be enjoying his trip to the city. The expensive hotels, the multitude of casinos where one could gamble away their fortunes and enjoy themselves while they did it, the street acts such as the illusionist currently wowing a crowd with his tricks on a nearby sidewalk: there was much to be seen and done in a city such as Las Vegas but unfortunately Jones Marshall was in no position to enjoy any of it. Rather, his day had gone from a routine one to an outright bad one.

He was seated in the driver's seat of his red four door luxury saloon car except he was not actually "driving". The steering wheel moved itself and the accelerator and brake pedals worked by themselves. Jones just had to sit back and enjoy the ride, although with all that was on his mind enjoying himself was difficult to do. The car was in fact the Autobot known as Deadeye changed into vehicle mode as what Jones figured was an effective means of disguise. The Autobot seemed to know where he was going and needed no help from the humans seated within his vehicle form.

In the passenger seat sat James Turner, the kooky African-American priest whom Jones had effectively fallen in with today. It was strange that a priest of all people would be involved in what was going on but today Jones had seen stranger. Today, Jones' life had been effectively turned upside down.

Where today was supposed to have been an ordinary day, complete with Jones' bitch of a mother bossing him around, things had gone in a decidedly different direction. Not only had he been chased and briefly held captive by a bunch of big, bad alien robots but he had fallen in with a crazy old priest and a college student with a mutating arm. This sort of thing, Jones figured, did not happen every day. He just wondered why it had happened to him, of all people. Whatever intergalactic war he had become involved with should not have been his, or any other human being's concern. It annoyed him to think that he had no choice with his involvement in everything: apparently the Decepticons knew who he was and would seek him out as a means to reach Sam Witwicky, who Jones was now effectively connected with. Nothing that Jones had ever dreamed of could match what had happened to him today. In fact, the absurdity of the situation was still far from sinking in. He was still trying to sift through the details and form some sort of grasp of the situation he had found himself in.

_Why does this shit have to happen to me?_

Jones looked up and gazed out of the window as Deadeye drove through a more active street in the city. Neon signs were everywhere, lighting up the whole city like Christmas lights on a tree. Cars and pedestrians were everywhere and none took a second look at the red four door luxury car as it worked its way across town. Their destination was the home of some guy who was apparently some sort of ex-secret agent, Jones just was not too sure who. James and Sam seemed to know him well and both had supplied very little information about him. Sam was back at the motel, probably sitting around trying to work out just what was happening to his arm.

Whatever was happening to Sam Witwicky was certainly unnerving: so far the guy's whole right arm had changed into something reminiscent of either the Autobots or Decepticons, as if he was turning into one of _them_. How this was possible Jones did not know, but he supposed anything was possible after what had happened to him today. First, he had discovered the car he had only recently won was some sort of alien robot. Then there was what happened at the church, complete with the evil alien robots and the one that Sam had been friends with, Bumblebee he had been called. After that, there had been the fight at the warehouse and now, with no other option they had come to Las Vegas to find someone who may or may not be of some help to them.

"How far now, Deadeye?" James asked, breaking the silence that had filled the inside of the car. He and Jones met gazes for a moment as Deadeye replied, speaking through the car's radio.

"_Not far now. I'm just worried about Sam…"_

"Sam will be fine. Hopefully this RoboWarrior…I mean, this Simmons guy will have answers."

"_I hope so. Something tells me Centurion and his flunkies aren't far behind us."_

There was a brief silence as James pondered the suggestion, frowning as he realized it was most definitely true.

"We'll be out of here before they show up," James said somewhat confidently.

With that, the conversation ended and the silence returned. As if to make the journey less depressing, Deadeye manipulated the radio in the dashboard until it settled on some music.

Jones took a look at James, noticing the priest had settled into some sort of sombre demeanour. This was understandable considering everything that had happened today. It was obvious that James blamed himself for the loss of the alien device to Centurion and for what was happening to Sam. Jones felt he should say something if only to ease the old priest's mind but could think of no words to convey this message. Instead, the silence continued for a few more minutes until Jones finally came up with something to say.

"So, James…Just who are we going out of our way to meet? You and Sam seem to know this guy pretty well, but I'm sort of out of the loop…that's understandable since I only just met you two today." Jones delivered this statement in a rather uneven manner, unsure as to whether he should really be asking for an explanation or not. There was still a lot on his mind, mainly what his mother would think when he finally got home…_if_ he got home.

James looked up and seemed to think for a moment before speaking. There was obviously a lot on his mind as well.

"He's a friend, of sorts," James said, "Simmons, his name is. He's helped me in the past, just always under the pseudonym 'RoboWarrior' and never in person. Sam, on the other hand, has met him before. If anyone knows the full extent about what's going on then it'll be Simmons. He even has his own website…that's how I found out about him. Through his website."

"And you trust this guy?" Jones asked, raising an eyebrow.

"He's been reliable in the past and he's our only real lead. What we need to do is get in contact with the other Autobots so they can help Sam out and the only way we'll be able to get in touch with them is through Simmons. I can't come up with any other options and we're sort of in a tough spot since those bad robots, those Decepticons, are after Sam. Whatever's happened to him has them interested."

"Has the thought of, you know, walking away from it all ever crossed your mind?"

James frowned. Something told Jones that the question had struck a chord in the priest since this frown quickly turned into a scowl.

"Deadeye, pull over here for a minute," he told the car, tapping the dashboard. Deadeye swerved to the side of the road rather suddenly, causing Jones to lurch in his seat involuntarily. When the car stopped the driver's side door opened. James returned his gaze to Jones, his brow furrowed into a harsh stare. His began speaking, his tone level but at the same time stern. Jones sat and listened, suddenly feeling rather vulnerable. He suddenly regretted having asked the question about walking away, especially since it had seemed to set off something within the old priest.

"Listen here boy and listen good: I know you might be thinking _why me? And why now?_ I know you're probably thinking this ain't for you and let me tell you that it isn't. I've met you young types before, you all just want to go off and do your own thing, you don't give a damn about what's happening in the outside world. You never think to yourselves about all the bad shit that goes on in the world because you think it doesn't affect you. Well, it does. The slightest change in one place can have massive ramifications elsewhere. If you want to walk away, and I expect you to, then do it now. Don't waste my time because I ain't got time for some wise-ass like you. That's what your generation always does now: you walk away. Why? Because you don't care. You don't see the big picture. You don't _care_ about the big picture. And right now Jones, you are involved in something big. Very big. And let me tell you that life, sometimes it throws shit your way. Lots of it. And we're right in the middle of a massive shitstorm. I've never walked away from anything. My mother always used to tell me that I'd get into a lot of trouble because of that and she's right: I used to get into fights all the time. But it paid off. Because I know that walking away is reserved for those who have given up. Are you going to walk away from doing what's right? Have you given up, boy? If you have, then walk away. That way, when this is all over you can tell your grandkids that when the big robot war broke out you did shit all. Or you can stay in the car so you have some stories to tell them."

There was a pause. James was eyeing Jones carefully, barely needing to take a breath after his speech. What the old priest had said, about not walking away…it made some sense. If Jones lived for another fifty years after this (and in his eyes, that was a very big "if") then he might look back on this moment and remember it as the deciding factor: if he stayed in the car, he would have stories to tell. Ripping yarns, as some would say. If he left, what would he have to tell? That when fate called on him he walked away from it?

After a moment of deliberation, Jones reached out and closed the driver's side door. He noticed the hint of a smirk on the old priest's features but James went on as if nothing had happened. Jones suddenly got the feeling that he had just been the victim of some sort of reverse psychology, with James making him feel like a loser if he walked away. It appeared that the priest had effectively instilled a sense of doing what was right within him and for that Jones suddenly felt annoyed, yet at the same time grateful that the priest had done it. James was right: in these circumstances, walking away was not the option to take.

The rest of the drive did not take long. James remained silent through the journey as did Deadeye, continuing to let the music play through the radio. The Autobot took them to the outskirts of the city, where the nightlife was considerably less lively and the casinos and hotels sparse. Here, it was more suburban than anything else. The streets were quiet save for the background noise of the city. Very few people were out on the streets at this time and a quick look at the digital clock on the dashboard revealed just how late it was: eleven o'clock at night. It seemed unlikely that Simmons would be awake at this hour.

As if simply knowing what time it was had struck something within him, Jones suddenly began to feel quite tired. The franticness of earlier today had gone and the exhaustion was gradually setting in. What Jones needed was some sleep and a lot of it. He was not going to get any, not when the car stopped and the doors opened.

James was outside and in the cool night air within seconds, as if he did not feel tired at all. He literally pulled Jones out of the car when he noticed the younger man's tiredness.

"_I'll keep watch out here,"_ Deadeye said through the car's radio.

"We shouldn't be too long," James replied, "And we need to get back to Sam as soon as possible anyway." He turned around and looked ahead at the house before them. Jones did the same.

The house was a double-storey, with a large front yard with a well trimmed lawn and spick and span driveway. Through one of the curtains light was visible, hinting that there was some activity going on inside. Starting up the front path, it was only a short walk to the front door. James was the one to knock, doing this a few times before he noticed the door bell button nearby. He pressed it and a typical _ding-dong_ noise sounded out. After about ten seconds of inactivity, James rang the door bell again. He began to press it repeatedly, as if he was worried that no one would answer. Jones could see that the priest was tense, something that was understandable after all that had happened today.

Finally the door opened. Standing dressed in denim jeans, a grey T-shirt and some expensive sneakers was a tall man with dark curly hair that was going grey in parts. He was Caucasian and Jones could see a hint of some sort of European background in his features, perhaps Italian or Greek it was hard to tell. Behind him was a hallway carpeted with what must have been expensive carpet. In fact, the whole house gave the impression of someone who was quite well off finance-wise.

James took in the man's appearance for a moment before getting straight to business.

"Simmons?" He asked.

"Well, I knew you'd show up eventually," the man said rather bluntly, holding out a hand. James shook hands with him, almost excitedly. Jones, on the other hand, was standing a metre behind and feeling left out.

"James Turner, the troublemaking priest," Simmons said, "I called you days ago and told you to get your butt over here. Instead, you said you had things to do…"  
"You wouldn't believe what's happened since then," James said. He saw Simmons' doubtful gaze and quickly corrected himself: "Or maybe you would, I don't know."

Simmons gaze went over to Jones, who could only return it with a polite but awkward smile. Something about Simmons gave the impression of a man who was always in a hurry and very rarely ever laid back.

"Who are you, son?" Simmons asked, stepping forwards. He held out a hand and Jones nervously shook with him. "Because I'm Seymour Reginald Simmons. You can call me Seymour, if you want."

"He's Jones Marshall," James said, answering for the younger man, "You could say he's a friend of mine…although we only met today. It's a long story."

"I like long stories," Simmons said quickly, breaking from the handshake. He took a step back into the house, gesturing at James and Jones to follow him inside. The pair did so and Simmons closed the door shut behind them, taking a quick if not careful look towards their car that was parked out on the street.

Simmons led them into a rather spacious lounge room, complete with sofas, a coffee table and a large plasma television. He started for the kitchen bar area in the next room although very little separated the rooms save for a large open archway. The whole house appeared to be quite new, complete with the latest in household architecture.

"You guys want something to drink? You name it, I got it." Simmons stepped behind the bar and started gazing at the shelf behind, searching for an appropriate beverage. Jones took note of the documents and papers strewn across the coffee table, as well as the laptop computer that was with them.

"Uh…Simmons…We're kind of in a hurry…" James said as Simmons emerged from the kitchen with a bottle of what looked to be scotch.

"A hurry?" Simmons stopped, frowning. "Why? You said you had a story to tell and I want to hear it. And you told me over the phone you had found something. Where is it?"

"Uh…that's what this is about. Something's happened. Well, actually…" James trailed off. "A lot's happened since we last spoke. And a lot of it has to do with the Decepticons."

Simmons did not seem at all concerned when the Decepticons were mentioned. Instead, he put the bottle of scotch onto the coffee table and raised an eyebrow.

"Decepticons? What about them? It's not another one of their plans for destroying the human race, is it?"

"Uh…I don't know."

"You don't know?" Simmons frowned and nodded over at Jones. "I take it he knows about the Decepticons?"

"Sort of…" James was beginning to be at a loss on what to say when faced with a character like Simmons. The man was a very fast talker, this much was obvious. James had been expecting a more serious, business-minded type when it came to an ex-secret agent.

"Then obviously something's going on if some random kid's gotten involved," Simmons said. It took Jones a moment to realize that Simmons was referring to him. Before Jones could protest to being called "kid", James had begun talking.

"I found this device, some sort of alien power cell or something. It was covered with all sorts of weird alien hieroglyphs…."

"And?"

"And I lost it," James replied.

"You _lost_ it?" Simmons sounded incredulous.

"I lost it to the Decepticons," James continued, "What happened was that Jones and Sam Witwicky showed up at my church and that the Autobots needed it. Then the Decepticons showed up, including some big guy called Centurion…He took it and now it's imbued him with some special powers that make him very hard to kill."

Simmons was listening to all of this very carefully. As James continued talking he began to sort through the assorted folders spread across the coffee table.

"We got captured by the Decepticons," James said, "They killed Bumblebee and they were planning to kill us. Some robot named Megatron wanted to torture Sam but we were rescued by a couple of Autobots, Deadeye and Depthcharge. Oh, and something called the Matrix of Leadership, it was in Centurion's possession. We ended up getting it off of him but it got…I don't know, it exploded in Sam's hand somehow. Now something real bad is happening to Sam…" James shook his head. "I just don't know what the fuck we should do! That's why we've come here…"

Jones could tell that for all the calmness that the priest exhibited, it was a mere front to cover up just how on edge he was. Simmons gestured towards the stairs just out in the hallway.  
"Come on up to my study," Simmons said, as if he had barely paid attention to what James had just said, "I got some files up there that might be able to shed some light on the situation. As far as I can tell, things have really started going to hell."

"What do you mean?" James asked as he Simmons started for the stairs. James and Jones followed, following the ex-Sector Seven spook into his private study.

"There's been a lot happening, not just to you guys. It's as if the Decepticons have suddenly decided to start wreaking havoc again after a short break." He paused as they entered the study, looking towards James and Jones and frowning.

"Where's Sam?" He asked.

"He's back at a motel," James replied, "He was in no state to go out anywhere in public."

"Are things really that bad for him?"

"He tried cutting off his own arm earlier today."

Simmons looked surprised.

"Oh…" He paused, thinking carefully for a moment. "We better get him in touch with NEST then, I think. Whatever's happening to him it's because the Matrix of Leadership exploded in his hand, as you said. And something like that _cannot_ be good for your health."

He stepped towards the filing cabinets against the wall. There were several of them and there were even more boxes filled with dusty old folders stacked on top of the filing cabinets. The room itself looked more like an archive of sorts than a study. Jones stood in the doorway, feeling strangely left out.

"James, you're well aware of Sector Eight, right?" Simmons asked.

"Sector Eight?" James looked perplexed.

"You know, Colonel Weller and all his flunkies."

"Oh, those guys…Yeah, I know them. I just didn't know they were called 'Sector Eight'."

"That's because they don't really have a name. Weller just calls them Sector Eight as a joke, you know, since most of them are from Sector Seven. They're the ones who have been trying to take advantage of the presence of aliens on Earth for the last three years, ever since Sector Seven got disbanded. I suppose I could have joined them but I sure as hell wouldn't be able to bring myself to work under Weller. That guy is an ass."

Simmons pulled down a box of folders marked "RECENT". He pulled out a few and laid them across the desk, opening them and pulling out their contents. James watched carefully, noticing a photo of Colonel Weller amongst the papers.

"Recently it seems that Weller's been looking for answers concerning a set of ruins found in a quarry in Venezuela. The ruins themselves are only the tip of a much larger set of alien facilities, perhaps even a ship that is buried underneath a large section of the country," Simmons explained, "That device you found was the first part of the puzzle to these ruins. Weller recently gained an asset in the form of an Autobot that the Dutch found in the Arnhem River. This Autobot was the one with the device…"

"Deadeye," James said with realization.

"What?" Simmons looked up, suddenly very attentive.

"The Autobot who was after the device in the first place is Deadeye and he's right outside now," James replied.

"Small world, isn't it?" Simmons asked. James nodded, allowing the man to continue. "Anyway, what's strange is that there were _two_ Cybertronians found in the Arnhem River: Your friend Deadeye and someone else…Centurion. Now, the Arnhem River isn't very deep. These two were found to be in perfect condition, as if they had just fallen in. And what's even stranger is that they weren't there until a week ago. Add onto this reports from a British paratrooper who saw fighting in Arnhem back in World War Two…"

"And we've got a device that can allow the user to travel through time?" James asked. He swallowed. To think he had let something of that power fall into Centurion's hands sickened him.

"Both of them were found completely inert and drained of power. Where Weller got hold of Deadeye, Centurion woke up and went on a rampage through the Dutch countryside until he ran into our human and Autobot friends in NEST."

James nodded. Sam had mentioned NEST earlier: it was the organization that consisted of humans and Autobots working together to help get rid of any of the Decepticons remaining on Earth.

"Now, Centurion definitely has some sort of plan cooked up since he single-handedly managed to steal the Holy Lance from the Hofburg Imperial Palace in Vienna and he arranged for one of his Decepticon buddies to steal the Matrix of Leadership from a secure facility in the Arizona desert. He has his device and he probably still has the Holy Lance, while the Matrix of Leadership has been destroyed," Simmons explained, now on a roll. It would be hard to stop the man from talking, it seemed. "However, if what you say about Sam is true…"

"Then the Matrix of Leadership isn't really destroyed," James finished.

There was a pause. Jones was listening from the doorway, trying to work out just what the hell they were talking about. Yet more evidence that he was in way over his head, he thought.

"What exactly is happening to the kid, anyway?" Simmons asked.

"He's…transforming." James was unsure just how to explain it, especially since he was not too sure about it himself.

"How so?"

"His whole right arm has changed into that of a Cybertronian, albeit a human sized one," James replied.

Simmons shook his head, as if he did not quite believe it. James was not to sure he believed it either. Jones, who was still feeling a bit lost, cleared his throat from where he stood in the doorway. For once, he felt he had something helpful to say to the two conspiracy nuts in the room before him.

"If this Matrix of Leadership had as much power as you guys make it out it had, then maybe it's simply transferred that power into Sam. I suppose something like that would have side effects…" Jones trailed off, realizing that he had said something very clever. Maybe he was not so lost in this situation after all? He looked at James and Simmons, hoping to see them excited or at the very least hear them tell him how much of a genius he was.

"That's what I was just about to say," Simmons said nonchalantly, "There's no telling what's going to happen to Sam. An alien artefact like the Matrix of Leadership could do anything to him…If its power has been transferred into him then the Decepticons are going to go after him. And it all links back to the ruins that were found in Venezuela. What's in those ruins requires the Holy Lance and the Matrix. We can't let the Decepticons get both since whatever they do probably won't be beneficial for humanity."

There was a lengthy pause amongst the three of them. Jones suddenly had the urge to go to the toilet.

"Uh…Simmons, man, where's your bathroom?"

"Down the hall, second door on the right," Simmons replied, his mind obviously elsewhere.

James remained in the study with Simmons, tapping his fingers on the desk as he tried to make sense of the situation. It seemed that they were only a small part in something much bigger yet they had an important role: they had to protect Sam Witwicky for the power of the Matrix had been transferred into him. It might not have really manifested itself now, but it was obvious it would eventually. And the transformation the young man was going through…That would not be pleasant, especially when it took over his whole right arm and started on other parts of his body.

"We have to get to Sam," Simmons said suddenly, "And we have to get him to NEST. He'll be safer in their custody."

"What if the Decepticons decide to show up?" James asked. It was an obvious question and he felt that he already knew the answer. Simmons seemed at a loss on what to say for a moment, which was a surprise.

"Well, we'll do what's usually best to do in a situation like that," Simmons replied, "We run. I mean, I'm not trained to take on giant alien robots. Are you?"

James shook his head.

"We better get kitted out, just in case," Simmons said. He walked to the back wall and pulled a set of filing cabinets out of the way, revealing a locked safe set into the wall behind. James watched as Simmons quickly entered the combination for the lock before pulling open the safe. Within were several items, including a Beretta pistol and spare ammunition. Simmons took the pistol and the spare magazines before taking a brown flight jacket off of a coat rack nearby. He slipped on the jacket and slipped the gun and ammunition into the jacket. Another quick visit to his safe and he had pulled out a small handheld tazer, tucking that into one of the pockets on his jacket. Finally, he shut the safe and moved the filing cabinets back in front of it.

"Is that moron still in the bathroom?" Simmons asked. It took James a few seconds to realize that he was referring to Jones, who had since disappeared to the bathroom.

"Yeah," James said simply, "He probably fell in."

"He's probably sitting on the toilet crying," Simmons said.

"You don't like him?"

"I just think he's going to slow us down."

James simply nodded. Simmons made a good point there but James wasn't about to leave Jones behind. He decided to make conversation until Jones emerged, starting with a subject that had been eating at his mind since he had arrived at this house.

"So, John Simmons, you have a nice house and expensive décor yet you're retired…"

Simmons managed an almost beaming smile as he replied.

"I got a few rewards for my heroic actions last year when the Decepticons tried to blow up our sun," he said, "Full government pension, tax exempt, all that stuff."

"Heroic actions?"

"Yep. It was just me…One man, alone, betrayed by the country he loves—"

Simmons was interrupted when Jones returned from the bathroom, looking as tired as he had been looking earlier. The ex-Sector Seven agent looked somewhat annoyed at the interruption but James barely noticed.

"Hey guys, I'm back," Jones said, "We ready to leave yet?"


	13. Weller meets Witwicky

**Weller meets Witwicky  
**Las Vegas, Nevada  
December 16th, 2010

Seated in the driver's seat of a Sector Eight black SUV, Colonel Weller had been paying close attention to the goings-on at the motel across the street. He had a pair of binoculars held to his eyes, having used them to keep watch on the group that had recently arrived at the motel. Most of that group had since left and by "most" he meant all but one: Sam Witwicky, the college student who was not only responsible for the events that lead to the disbandment of Sector Seven (and Weller's bout of unemployment after this) but who was also one of the main reasons why the Cybertronians were so interested in Earth. They had come here looking for the Allspark originally and the Witwicky boy had been tied to it through his great-grandfather who had stumbled across Megatron's frozen body in the Arctic Circle back in the early 1900s.

Sam was the instigator of much had what happened with the Cybertronians in the last few years. It seemed that once again he was at the centre of it all, although this time around there was more at stake. Weller had been tracking the energy signatures emitted by the Matrix of Leadership and had been taken straight to where the disparate group was hiding out. There was Sam Witwicky who Weller had never actually met in person but had read much about in government records. Then there was the meddling priest James Turner, a man who had caused much trouble for Sector Eight in the past. He was even responsible for freeing the Autobot Deadeye from Sector Eight custody. Weller had been itching for some payback for the priest's meddling and it seemed he was faced with a prime opportunity to get it. He was unsure what he would do to the priest but he assured himself it would be satisfying. Revenge was always satisfying.

Finally there was Jones Marshall, a twenty-something year old nobody from Tranquility, Nevada. He had obviously been dragged into the whole mess by accident; much like Sam Witwicky had been the first time around. Weller did not think much of Jones, considering him a mere footnote to the situation. Jones was a nobody; it was James and Sam that were more of an interest because of their involvement in everything.

The binoculars Weller had to his eyes were of the expensive military-hardware type: they had a night-vision capability and a sensitive, powerful microphone built within that could pick up sounds over long distances. Such sounds included conversations people may have been having some distance away. It was from listening to what Jones, James and Sam had said during their time spent at the motel that Weller had learned a few things.

He was especially interested in what was happening to Sam. Whatever was indeed happening to the young man was most certainly an added complexity to an already complex set of circumstances. It seemed that the trio did not have the Matrix of Leadership in their possession and that Sam Witwicky was changing as a result of having it get destroyed in his hands. Another interesting tid-bit of information was how James had set off, along with Jones and the Autobot known as Deadeye, to go and meet ex-Sector Seven Agent Simmons. Simmons was an old acquaintance of Weller's and one of the few Sector Seven agents who had not taken up the chance to work for Sector Eight. Perhaps Simmons disagreed with the way they did things, whatever the reason Weller was sure it was a good one…Well, it probably wasn't but Simmons' choice of employment was not of his concern. His concern right now was the fact that Sam Witwicky had been left alone in a motel room, left in what his new friends probably saw as a safe place while in fact it was a very vulnerable position.

Weller lowered the binoculars, placing them on the dashboard as he considered his options. James, Jones and Deadeye would probably be back soon enough and there was no telling how much trouble they would cause if they realized Weller was after them, especially Deadeye. That Autobot was young and reckless and, unlike the other Autobots, he did not have many qualms when it came to harming humans. Deadeye was a bit arrogant, to put it lightly. However, if Weller went to confront Sam now when the young man was alone things might go a bit better, although he was unsure on what he would do with the Witwicky boy. A simple apprehension was in order by the look of things and Weller had just the place in mind to take Sam.

Captain Xander Farnell was sitting in the passenger seat, waiting anxiously as Weller surveyed the motel. It was late at night and the hustle and bustle of downtown Las Vegas was some distance away. Out here in the more suburban areas things could be a bit quieter, a bit more peaceful. Weller had no intention of starting a scene unless he had to: it just depended on how Sam would react to his arrival.

Weller reached into a pocket on his vest and pulled out a fresh cigar. He whipped out a cigar cutter and used it to snip off the end prior to placing the cigar at his mouth. Using his silver personalized lighter, Weller lit the fat end of the cigar and proceeded to take long, deep drags as he considered his options once more. He was getting tired of delaying but he wanted to be absolutely sure on what he would do once he was out of the car and in the motel. He knew which room Sam was staying in: it would not take much to simply walk up there and knock on the door.

"Farnell," Weller said, getting the Captain's attention. Weller eyed him carefully from where he was sitting. "Get on the phone to our facility in Idaho. Tell them we have a very special specimen pending delivery."

Farnell seemed confused for a moment before he realized what Weller was referring to.

"Are we going to apprehend Sam Witwicky, sir?" He asked as he pulled his mobile phone out of a trouser pocket.

"I'm thinking that way," Weller replied, "And if he's in the state I think he's in then our facility over in Idaho's our best bet."

Farnell nodded and began to dial the appropriate number. Weller would wait until the call was complete before setting out. Farnell would accompany him as backup for there was no telling what might happen when he confronted Sam Witwicky. It would not take much to pretend to be someone from NEST but Weller was not one to pretend. He preferred to be blunt and forthcoming. He always found people's reactions to his bluntness to be amusing. And then there was that quiet, yet commanding voice he could hear in his mind that was telling him what to do. Some part of him was telling him that the voice new all the answers, that it knew exactly what it was talking about. It could very well have been the voice of God.

Weller pulled his Magnum revolver from the holster at his waist, taking the time to open the revolving chamber. Reaching into one pocket he carefully began to load it, sliding a single bullet into each of the six chambers. Once that was done he slammed the revolving chamber back into place and slipped the weapon back into his holster. His gaze shifted to the space on the floor near his feet where his suppressed Ingram MAC 10 submachine gun was lying. He picked it up, checked the magazine loaded into the weapon before solidly gripping it in his right hand. Its weight felt welcoming, secure. Weller liked guns, unlike most people. Most of the world's current problems could be fixed with the application of firearms.

Farnell was finished on the phone, ending the call before slipping the mobile phone back into his pocket. He looked towards Weller, noticing the way the Colonel had begun to wipe his Ingram submachine gun with a tissue, cleaning it of any unwanted dust or dirt that may have gotten onto it.

"The guys over at Twin Falls say they're ready for whatever we bring them," Farnell said, "I'm just not sure about Sam Witwicky, sir. What could be happening to him that we need to take him to a biological weapons research facility?"

"It's not just biological weapons research they're doing over there, Captain," Weller replied, "They're working on our last line of defence against the Cybertronians. And they're experts on anything to do with biochemistry. If Sam's undergoing some sort of metamorphosis then the facility at Twin Falls will be our best equipped to handle him. I for one am genuinely interested in whatever the hell is happening to our young friend Sam Witwicky, I can tell you that for sure."

The facility in question was located in Twin Falls, in Idaho. It was one of several Sector Eight subsidiary facilities where specialized research was undertaken, often under the guise of legitimate government operations. The Twin Falls facility had once been a government facility where artificially created biological agents had been researched and created in years gone by. It had closed down about a decade ago after an incident concerning a deadly strain of the Ebola virus before being reopened as a facility where such deadly biological weapons could be stored and destroyed, if possible. It seemed an ideal place for the last line of defence against the Cybertronians to be created.

"So…if we're going to get Sam, what's our plan of approach?" Farnell asked.

"I was thinking something fairly straightforward: we rock up to the motel room door, knock on it, walk in and play it straight," Weller explained, "by that I mean we get straight down to business. We don't have a lot of time since that Autobot and the meddling priest are bound to show up later, probably with their new friend Simmons in tow."

"So Simmons is getting involved as well?" Farnell frowned. "What's he got to do with this?"

"He's been keeping tabs on Sector Eight, NEST and anything to do with both organizations for some time," Weller replied, "And he has the whole Sector Seven archive in his possession so something tells me he knows more about what's going on than we do…and he's just some retired guy living off of a fat government pension. If we do encounter him, I think that removing him from the picture would benefit our plans greatly. He is going to be working against us, after all."

"Did you know Simmons well, back in the Sector Seven days?" Farnell asked.

Weller considered this for a moment. He had never been close friends to Simmons. In fact, Simmons had never really had too many friends. He had always put the job before everything else.

"No, the man was a jerkass," Weller replied. He paused and then grabbed the handle on his side's door, pulling on it and opening it. He stepped out into the cold night air, feeling a slight chill as he shut the door behind him. Farnell followed suit and the pair started across the street and into the motel grounds, strolling past a dirtied swimming pool as they went.

There was no one else outside at this time of night. Various sorts of refuse littered the ground and the smell on the air was tainted with the stench of gasoline (something which was expected in an urban area). Weller and Farnell came to the stairs that lead up to the second storey of motel rooms, where Sam's room was located. The two would have looked somewhat suspicious to the average passer-by, kitted out in military-style outfits with Kevlar vests and wielding weapons. Weller casually clasped his Ingram submachine gun in his right hand, a sight that would have made any ordinary pedestrian take more notice of him. Weller and Farnell had an almost mercenary-like appearance by them, not helped by the fact that they still had bloodstains on their uniforms from the incident that had occurred earlier that day: Professor Kyle Vine had had his brains splattered across the rear of Weller's SUV, simply by pure accident. It had left quite a mess.

Weller and Farnell started up the stairs, heading straight for Sam's motel room. Rather confidently and with a knowing smirk on his face, Colonel Weller knocked on the door. 

* * *

Sam Witwicky had fallen asleep on the couch in front of a playing television. The current channel the television was tuned into was playing some sort of old 1970s disaster movie and Sam had fallen asleep a little while prior before a massive earthquake struck Los Angeles (referring to the events depicted in the film, of course). His sleep was an uncomfortable one, marred by the dull ache of his changing form. Already his whole right arm had been fully converted, complete with visible armour plating and joints much like those in a Cybertronian arm. Metallic tendrils worked their way underneath his skin from his affected shoulder and across his chest and up his neck, spreading the metamorphosis further. His human parts, especially his face, had an almost sickly appearance to them. He looked ill and if he had been awake he would have certainly felt ill. Already metallic splotches had begun to appear on his other arm and on his legs as both man and machine attempted to reach equilibrium within the same body. His eyes had started to distinctly glow an almost red hue and if he had been awake both would have been itching madly.

The abrupt knock on the motel room door woke him from his slumber. He sat up, trying to catch his breath but finding this difficult as he could feel something rough on the walls inside his throat. Looking around his gaze shifted on the green wooden door. He thought it might have been James and Jones, having returned from their trip to meet Simmons. This seemed likely as they had been gone for a while.

Sam found it difficult to move for a few seconds, becoming aware of the overall pain in not only his changed right arm but across his whole body. He looked down and felt a wave of anger as he lifted his changed right arm and surveyed its new appearance, its new feel…It was not human. It was only "human" in the vaguest sense: four fingers, a thumb, an elbow and a shoulder. There was no longer flesh but a hard metallic formation. Muscles had been replaced with the flexible, strong but rather alien Cybertronian form. How could he possibly go around in public looking like this?

The distress he had felt earlier on had faded, being replaced with an insurmountable rage: this just had to have happened to him and no one else. It seemed typical of his luck: bad luck had pretty much landed him in the whole Autobot vs. Decepticon war in the first place. If he had known something like this metamorphosis would happen to him he would have made sure to limit his involvement in the alien war somewhat.

He took a look at his other arm. It was still mostly human, save for the slight metallic and extremely itchy blotches that had begun to appear on the flesh. He scratched one eagerly, scratching away dead flesh with ease. Whatever was happening to him was spreading and it was spreading very quickly. Both of his eyes itched like mad and neither seemed to be working the way they should have been, with blinking becoming less and less of a necessity. He put his human left hand to his face and rubbed one eye, feeling that it felt somewhat harder and drier than normal. His whole head ached and the very bones within his changing anatomy ached as well. This was understandable since bones would be unnecessary in his new form. They would slowly be converted and the process was already proving to be quite painful.

He slowly stood up, finding it hard to concentrate on any one thing in particular. He felt like shit, bordering on throwing up. He started to make his way to the door, hearing that same quick but powerful knock. It certainly sounded like the kind of knock James Turner would deliver upon a door.

Sam stumbled over the coffee table, having forgotten that it was there. He stumbled and fell, landing in a heap on the carpeted floor. Swearing quietly he slowly pushed himself back onto his feet, standing up and resuming his walk to the door. He caught a glimpse of his left hand, noticing that a few of the fingernails seemed a bit out of place. He stopped, using his Cybertronian hand to manipulate one. Learning to work the heavier but stronger fingers was somewhat disorienting at first but within seconds it became second nature, hinting that some very basic functions his brain controlled were being changed accordingly. This struck fear into him, at the thought of his mind being altered in such a way.

The fingernails fell away easily, exposing a mess of blood and bright blue energon fluid underneath. Some of it squirted forth, spraying the door ahead of him. The strange mix of dark red and bright blue began to trickle down the door, presenting an almost sickening sight. At least, Sam was really beginning to feel sick.

There was the knock on the door again. Sam felt the sudden urge to yell at whoever was doing that to go away. Instead, he choked.

"Yeah, I'm coming!" He exclaimed, his voice coming out uneven and raspy, as if something was scraping at his throat. He suddenly needed a drink rather badly.

He reached out with his human hand, grabbing the door handle and turning it. He was surprised to see two men he had never seen before standing beyond the door. The man in front, a stern looking middle-aged military man with greying close-cropped hair, smiled at him. Sam put his Cybertronian arm behind his back in a futile attempt to hide it from these two unknown men.

"Hello, Sam," the man in front said. The man behind him, a younger and more anxious looking type, seemed ill-at-ease around the older man.

"Uh…hello." Sam struggled to keep focus, as if his eyes were only just working properly. He staggered slightly where he stood, having to put out his Cybertronian arm and use it to steady himself against the doorway. When the man in front saw it his gaze noticeably lit up.

"I'm Colonel Francis Weller," the military man said. He gestured to the younger man behind him. "That's Captain Xander Farnell. We're from NEST."

Any other time Sam might have realized that the Colonel was lying but Sam was in no position to think straight. Rather he just looked groggily towards them, taking note of a building nauseating feeling in his gut.

"May we come in? We need to talk. It's quite important." Weller had his hands behind his back and he looked sincere. Sam stepped aside, no longer caring to hide his transformation from the two men. If they were from NEST then they could know about it.

"Yeah…come in…" Sam had to lean back against the nearest wall to steady himself. He watched as Weller and Farnell strolled inside. Farnell closed the door behind him, keeping the cold night air out of the motel room.

Weller stopped by the coffee table, surveying the room carefully. He took his hands from behind his back, revealing that in his right he held a suppressed submachine gun. Sam was surprised to say the least, even more so when the Colonel stepped forward and stuck the weapon into his face.

"I can see that you're not feeling well," the Colonel said, "That's why I'm here. I've come to take you into the custody of Sector Eight, an organization that only aims at helping humanity and freeing our planet of the alien blight upon it. You just happen to have something I need…well, you did anyway."

Sam saw the gun and felt fear strike into his very being. Who was this man? He was not from NEST, that much was obvious. Where were James, Jones and Deadeye? Why weren't they back yet? Sam really needed to take a lie down since he was beginning to get a splitting headache. All these thoughts, all the pain he was in…in a subtle sense he was an absolute shambles of a human being. So many things flashed through his mind: What would his parents think of his changing form? What would Mikaela think? What would _anyone_ think?

"Sector…Eight?" Sam said, his voice hoarse. It had a resonant metallic quality to it all of a sudden.

"We're descended from Sector Seven, except were not as…legitimate as that previous organization," Weller explained, "We get funding from government benefactors but otherwise we don't officially exist. And I'm effectively in charge of Sector Eight. You want to know what our ultimate aim is?"

"What?"

"To rid the world of all Cybertronian fuckers, like your Autobot friends," Weller spat, his voice laced with hatred, "They brought their conflict to our world, a world that's already fucked up enough as it is with human conflict. Your Autobot friends have done just as much damage as the Decepticons. And now it seems to further our ultimate goal we need something…something you had."

Sam realized that Weller had serious issues. He had only just met the man and already it was obvious he was bordering on mental instability. Then again, Sam was not in much of a state to say anything about anyone else's problems when he was just as screwed up, albeit physically and not mentally as was with Weller's case.

"The Matrix of Leadership, Sam, that's what I'm after," Weller continued, "And from what I hear it exploded in your hand…Such an occurrence has obviously had some detrimental side effects." Upon saying this, Weller used his free hand to grab Sam's Cybertronian arm, holding it up in front of him for a better view. It felt weird but Sam could feel Weller's touch on that arm as well as he could on his human arm, albeit it felt different…more sensitive, as if every square nanometre of his Cybertronian arm was some sort of nerve ending or receptor…

"I have this voice, in my mind, the voice of God," Weller said, his eyes taking on a menacing glare, "It tells me that the Matrix of Leadership was a mere vessel for the power it contained. When that vessel is threatened, it jumps to whatever other vessel it can. In this case, it has jumped to you and is changing you accordingly. You carry the power now, Sam. Hell, you could probably resurrect your dead friend Bumblebee if you wanted to."  
Resurrect Bumblebee? The thought lasted a mere second as Sam's attention was diverted to the unstable Colonel. He looked stable enough but there was something beyond that exterior shell, something underneath that hinted at insanity…as if his mind was carrying a heavy burden and was bordering upon collapse.

Weller forcefully pulled Sam by the Cybertronian arm towards the small bathroom. Farnell stepped out of the way as the Colonel almost literally dragged Sam into the bathroom, depositing him by the bathtub. He disappeared from the room for a minute while Farnell kept watch from the doorway, his hand on the sidearm in the holster at his waist.

This was happening all too quickly. Sam was still unable to really work out where Weller was coming from when it came to his involvement in everything. It seemed plausible that there were extremists out there who had decided to take advantage of the alien conflict on Earth to further their own ends. What Sam did not understand was Weller's hatred of the Cybertronians. He seemed to really despise them.

The thought that Sam carried the power of the Matrix of Leadership within him was certainly an intriguing one. Did this mean that Sam could bring Bumblebee back to life as the Matrix had done to Optimus nearly two years before? Whatever power Sam now had was not manifesting itself in any visible means.

Sam suddenly felt an overwhelming pain in his chest, as if something was boring its way through his ribcage. He clutched at his chest like a man having a heart attack, groaning loudly as he fell onto his knees. Farnell looked concerned for a moment, stepping forwards cautiously and gazing down at the stricken younger man.

"Hey…uh…what's the matter?" Farnell asked uncertainly.

Sam felt a sudden relief as the pain subsided as quickly as it had arrived. He felt an upheaval in his chest and leaned forwards, throwing up all over the bathroom floor. Farnell jumped back in surprise and disgust as blood mixed in with energon fluid splattered all over the bathmat.

"Oh my God," Farnell muttered, trying not to step in the mess.

Sam looked up, a horrible metallic taste in his mouth. He needed help, serious help. Glancing down at the mess in front of him he could see a few of his teeth amongst the gunk. It was as if they had simply fallen out on their own accord.

Sam watched as Weller re-entered the room, pushing Farnell aside as he did so. Weller had tucked his Ingram submachine gun in his waist, making both his hands free. In one hand he held a large kitchen knife and he used his free hand to grab Sam by the shoulder, lifting him up to the wash basin nearby.

Sam had no idea what this madman was planning to do and this was the thought that frightened him the most. It did not matter what he was turning into, it simply mattered that he get out of this situation before the Colonel seriously hurt him. He felt the Colonel forcefully outstretch Sam's Cybertronian arm, putting it across the wash basin. Out in the living room the television's volume had been turned up to cover up any noise that Sam may have made. He did feel like screaming, shouting out to the heavens for anyone to help him…but he realized that in his state such a move could cause more trouble. What if some random tenant in the motel saw his transformation? Then what? The disaster movie showing on the television was full of the sounds of things exploding and people screaming, presenting an almost perfect backdrop to what was happening in the motel room at the time.

"I want to take a closer look at what's happening to you, Sam," Weller said. He pulled up the right sleeve of Sam's shirt, revealing the Cybertronian-looking arm and the fact that the transformation was spreading. Sam could see the fascinated, almost mad look in the Colonel's eyes. Sam Witwicky was a scientific goldmine. He did not like the idea of becoming a scientific experiment but this seemed to be what would end up happening if Weller got his way. Sam knew he needed to get free of Weller and soon.

Weller took the blade of the knife to Sam's forearm and carefully began to try and flay the "skin" there. It did not work and Sam felt barely a thing as the blade scraped harmlessly against the Cybertronian "flesh". Weller began to carefully saw the blade on the arm but it simply scratched against the metallic flesh, leaving little mark.

"Fascinating," Weller said simply. Sam's heart was thumping in his chest now as he watched Weller move the blade to the Cybertronian hand, preparing to presumably cut off a finger.

Sam was sweating, bleeding and overall he felt like shit. A splitting ache shot across his Cybertronian arm suddenly and he, along with Weller and Farnell, watched in fascination as the arm began to change shape, much in the same way a Cybertronian would transform their arm into a weapon. The pain was enormous and Sam could not stop himself from shouting but it was over within seconds. Instead of the normal Cybertronian forearm there was what was unmistakably a gun of some sort, its barrel glowing with a blue-white energy.

It took a moment for the change to register with Sam: if he was indeed turning into a Cybertronian then it seemed logical that he would be able to change shape like one of them. Weller released his grip on Sam and stepped back, watching the arm cannon with sudden caution. He dropped the knife and pulled out his Ingram submachine gun. Farnell had raised his Beretta pistol but his grip on it was noticeably shaky, as if he was suddenly very unsure about the situation.

"My God…You're turning into one of _them_," Weller said, "You're one hell of a special case…"

Sam groggily turned his attention to the pair. He had never considered killing anyone but these two men wanted to capture him, probably to experiment on him. He was not going to let that happen. He pointed his new arm cannon at Weller, taking a step forwards.

"Get out of my way," Sam said. He needed to get out of here before more of the Colonel's men showed up, a possibility that seemed quite real.

"You're not seriously considering using that, are you Sam?" Weller asked, almost tauntingly, "You're not going to shoot me, are you Sam?"

Sam ignored him, stepping past him and then Farnell before entering the living room. He turned around as he approached the door, finding that both Weller and Farnell had followed him into the living room. Weller had raised his Ingram, a slight facial tic betraying the rage he felt underneath his calm and collected exterior.

"I'm going to get you, Sam," Weller said, "No one ever gets away from me. _No one_."

There was a moment's pause. Weller pulled the trigger and Sam was slow on the duck, feeling a few of the rounds puncture his chest as he went. They did not hurt much, strangely enough. In the time it took for him to duck he had raised his arm cannon and fired, the noise a thunderous _boom_ within the confines of the motel room. Weller dived and the blast of blue-white energy slammed into Farnell, blowing his upper torso to pieces and splattering blood and wet bits onto the wall behind him like an abstract but gory work of art. A pair of dismembered legs fell to the floor, blood seeping out of them and staining the carpet.

Sam managed a gasp of surprise as he watched Farnell explode but it did not hurt him as much as he thought it might have done. He slowly rose to his feet, looking down at himself and seeing three bullet holes in the front of his shirt. Rather than blood, a faint trickle of blue-white energon fluid dribbled out of each. Lifting up his shirt he discovered the unmistakable dark metallic shell of a life-spark forming in the centre of his chest, a sight that simply made him feel even sicker than he already was.

Weller was back on his feet, slowly backing away to the nearest window. Sam let his shirt fall back over him as he watched the Colonel carefully start making his retreat. He pointed his arm cannon in the man's direction. Weller pulled the trigger on his suppressed Ingram submachine gun again, bullets spraying forth at an incredible rate. Sam fired and Weller dived again. Sam's blast missed and hit the wall, sending a plume of fire and smoke forth as it blasted a hole through to the next motel room which was thankfully vacant.

Weller's dive took him through the curtains and through the window. It smashed as it collided with it, sending him sprawling onto the balcony out front, shards of glass flying everywhere. He hurriedly got up and started to run. Sam raced out of the door, watching as the Colonel started down the stairs ahead. Sam followed, determined to put an end to this here and now.

He only just noticed the arrival of the familiar red luxury car. Three people emerged, all familiar. All three watched as Weller started running through the motel grounds, heading for his SUV. Sam stopped, watching as Weller climbed into his black SUV and hurriedly started the engine. It struck Sam that he was not at all puffed out, as if he did not need the oxygen as much as a normal human would have. Weller floored the accelerator and the SUV sped off, screeching around a corner and disappearing from view.

The three familiar figures ran over to Sam as he staggered where he stood. His Cybertronian arm reverted back to its normal mode and all it took was a little concentration on Sam's part.

Simmons was the new arrival in the group, looking at Sam's changing form with wide eyes.

"Wow, kid, you've really changed since the last time I saw you," he said. He paused, looking around before adding, "I thought I recognized the guy you were chasing…"

James grabbed hold of Sam, steadying the younger man as it was obvious he was quite groggy.

"Sam, what happened?"

Sam looked up, trying to focus on James but finding this increasingly difficult.

"He called himself Colonel Weller…he wanted to kidnap me, I don't know…he didn't really explain it well…"

"Colonel Weller?" Simmons obviously recognized the name. The conversation was cut short by the sound of a police siren in the distance, one that was nearing fast.

"We have to go," Simmons said, helping James guide the groggy Sam towards Deadeye's vehicle mode, "We're going to have to lay low for a while, I think. We can talk more when the police aren't out to get us."

James and Simmons helped Sam into the back seat while Jones kept on the lookout for the police. Once Sam was in the others followed suit. Deadeye started his engines and sped off, putting as much distance between them and the motel as necessary.


	14. Convergence

**Convergence  
**A few miles outside of Las Vegas, Nevada  
December 16th, 2010

Ratchet, the Autobot medic, had so far had a terrible day. He had been stabbed, beaten and shot and he had discovered that a friend of his had gone rogue, having fallen under the sway of a seductive Decepticon. The friend in question with Breakaway, a recent arrival on Earth and the only airborne Autobot. It seemed he was not an Autobot any longer, especially considering he had been noticeably "upgraded" and his appearance altered. It was obvious that he was not himself, made even more apparent by the fact that he had wounded Smokescreen and had threatened to kill Ratchet.

That confrontation had occurred in the town of Tranquility, Nevada. The original mission had been to work out why Megatron and Starscream were in that town but that objective had been quickly overshadowed by the NEST team's encounter with Breakaway and his new "friend" Slipstream. Ratchet had never heard of Slipstream before and assumed that she was a recent arrival on Earth and somewhat new to the whole Autobot—Decepticon war. It was also quite obvious that she was ambitious and manipulative, having persuaded Breakaway to go rogue with her. Whoever she was, she had become quite possessive of Breakaway and Breakaway felt the same in return. Ratchet had already figured that if they killed Slipstream, Breakaway would probably have a breakdown (a thought that part of Ratchet's mind found wholly appropriate).

Ratchet had spent the last few hours fixing himself, having been wounded in the fight with Breakaway and Slipstream. It took a while to patch himself up but soon enough he was back to a reasonably repaired extent even if his wounded areas were still sore to the touch. It had been a while since he had been wounded in battle, something that only indicated that it had been a while since any sort of Decepticon activity had occurred.

The NEST team, including the Autobots, had regrouped at a deserted desert compound several miles outside of Las Vegas. They had followed in the wake of the Decepticon Centurion as well as Megatron and Starscream. It seemed that the three were working together and the only way this could be happening was if they were working to reach a very important goal, one that would have to appeal to the three Decepticons immensely. It was a worrying thought that the three were working together, especially since Megatron and Centurion had never gotten along with each other before.

Ratchet sat by himself in a hangar within the desert compound, running a diagnostic of his systems in order to make sure that he was operating to a reasonable extent. He had, after all, had a sword stuck through his chest. That was the sort of injury that could seriously slow someone down. He knew that if he died then the Autobots would be at a significant disadvantage: he was their medic and he was the one responsible for healing them when they were wounded. Without him they were effectively finished if any of them got hurt. It was a somewhat heavy responsibility but Ratchet had since gotten used to it. He had been thinking of training someone else on the team in Cybertronian medicine but he had never had a chance, especially with recent events happening the way they were. He had considered Jolt as a worthy successor to him but he had recently become wary of the younger Autobot, especially after discovering an anomaly in his systems.

Outside the other Autobots were hanging around, regaining their composure after the latest batch of bad news. In Ratchet's perception it seemed that all they ever heard now was bad news. They had a fairly good idea of what Centurion was trying to do, they just did not know how or why. It all had to do with the legendary being Unicron, someone whom Ratchet had only ever heard scary stories about. There was no solid evidence of Unicron's existence but there had to be some fact behind the legends, as all legends are often (very loosely) based on fact. It was just somewhat questionable the reliability of some of the information in the stories he had heard in the past, thinking back to his younger days on Cybertron: there had been this age-old Cybertronian, his sanity questionable and his parts rusting, who had often told stories to the younger ones in the neighbourhood: legends describing how Cybertron was created, how their race was created…Ratchet remembered some of them now as he thought about them, remembering the ones about Primus, how he had created Cybertron and their race from himself, almost like the "God" many humans seemed to believe they had. Ratchet had never been a religious type of Cybertronian, he had just found it interesting to listen to the stories that people told in order to try and explain their existence in the universe. In Ratchet's always logical view, he simply saw the universe as a harsh place full of unexplainable things that no one should even bother trying to explain. It was a waste of time, in his view anyway. What had been said about Unicron earlier today had done little to unnerve him. Scary stories you had heard when you had been a mere youngster were not something you should take into account of rational thought.

Even so, there was a very good question in Ratchet's mind, one that Master Sergeant Robert Epps had mentioned some time ago in reference to Optimus Prime and the Autobots in general:

"_It makes you think, doesn't it? If God created us in His image, then who created him?"_

The first answer that came to mind was Primus, the being who the Cybertronians could easily call their "God" or their "creator" (that is, if he did exist and Ratchet doubted this). The humans had their God but they also had his opposite: where God was all that was good and light, there was the Devil (who had many different names in many different cultures) who was all that was dark and evil. Where God brought order, the Devil brought chaos…and one of Unicron's other monikers was "the Chaos Bringer". It was perhaps too much of a coincidence that two very different races could have such similar beliefs in similar divine beings. Even so, Ratchet would only ever believe this sort of thing if there was solid proof to back it up. He had always been the logical one of the small band of Autobots on Earth and he was not about to let some scary stories he had heard when he was a youngster cloud his judgement. He was certain some of the other Autobots were perhaps getting a little anxious, especially after all that had happened in the past few days.

Ratchet gave the Cybertronian equivalent of a sigh. Just what was really happening? It seemed to him that NEST and the Autobots were in the dark about what Centurion was planning, save for some hints here and there. They should have stopped him in Holland and instead he kills Ironhide and makes his escape. They should have stopped him in Austria and instead he manages to obliterate the Hofburg Imperial Palace in Vienna. Never had they encountered an enemy that could absorb everything they threw at them. Centurion simply shrugged off all the shots they fired at him, as if they did nothing to him. It was simply frustrating to throw all that you had at an enemy in order to stop them, only for them to shrug it off and keep walking.

Ratchet's diagnostic finished up about then, giving him a seventy-five percent functionality reading. He was still stiff in places, as getting a sword plunged through your chest could seriously hamper your movements even long after the sword had been removed. There was little else Ratchet could do to fix himself up save for sit around and let his body repair itself, something that would certainly take a while after the beating he had received. Smokescreen was in a similar state, having been stabbed and shot a few times. He was hanging around outside, taking a rest in order to speed up the healing process. Cybertronians could regenerate and heal themselves just like humans could; it just took time especially on serious injuries. Of course, it was a lot faster than any human body could heal itself. The human body was so fragile compared to that of a Cybertronian.

It was only a slight surprise when Chromia wandered in. She was perhaps half of Ratchet's size but the way she carried herself made her seem on the same level with him. She was always so confident, something that Ratchet could only admire in her especially after all of the bad things that had happened in the last few days. And she had lost the one she had loved, Breakaway. Of all the Autobots, it had been Chromia that Ratchet had expected to be the most distraught at Breakaway's betrayal. She had been meaning to forgive him for the way she had treated him when he had arrived on Earth. It seemed very credible that she would not get that chance.

Chromia approached Ratchet, the light filtering through the narrow windows above catching on her features and shimmering across her as she moved. Ratchet stood up from where he had been sitting, still sore from the injuries he had received in the skirmish with Breakaway and Slipstream. Ratchet was pleased to see someone he could talk to who was not all down and out like the others. Naturally, Optimus was not "down and out" but he certainly seemed more distant than usually while the Twins were their normal irritating selves. Smokescreen and Sideswipe were demoralised while Jolt seemed to have distanced himself from everyone. Chromia was the one whom Ratchet could relate to, finding that he liked her more as a friend than her sister Firestar, who was somewhat more soft-spoken.

"Chromia," Ratchet stated in his usual friendly manner, "Do you need something?"

Chromia seemed to give the Cybertronian equivalent of a shrug.

"I'm not too sure," she replied, "I just thought we could talk."

"I'm always willing to talk with you, Chromia," Ratchet said. He managed a look around the somewhat dark interior of the hangar. There was no one else inside save for them and the silence was rather staggering. The doors ahead were only partially open and between them were stacks and stacks of old wooden and metal boxes. The compound itself had apparently been one of the many military bases in Nevada, being used to store nuclear weapons and such. This had been about fifty to sixty years ago. Now it was just a disused compound home to nothing more but rusty old military equipment. It was an ideal place for NEST forces to regroup.

There was a long pause between the two Autobots in the hangar. Ratchet found that Chromia seemed conflicted, split even as if she could not decide about something, something that was weighing on her mind heavily. Ratchet decided not to rush her, as she had obviously come here to confide in him. He did not want to antagonize her and he did not wish to ruin what could prove to be a rewarding conversation. Of all the Autobots, she had chosen him to talk to. Perhaps it was the privacy of the hangar or maybe she saw him as the closest friend she had.

"It's about Breakaway," Chromia finally said, looking up at him with a conflicted gaze on her metallic features, "I know you probably don't want to hear anymore about this, since I've pestered you about it a few times so far…"

"No, go on Chromia," Ratchet said, "I'll listen. You need someone to talk to in a time of trial. I'm willing to be that someone. Whatever you have to say, regardless of what it is about, I'll be listening."

"He betrayed us," Chromia stated simply, shaking her head as she said it, "I always knew that was a possibility. He is a Seeker, after all. They're born to fly, to be at the front of every battle. All of the other Seekers defected to the Decepticons…Breakaway was one of the few who stayed with us. And then he went undercover within the Decepticons..." She trailed off momentarily, as if she was unsure of what to say. "I never treated him right, Ratchet. I refused to be with him when he returned, regardless of the work he had done for us on Cybertron. He obviously went through hell during him time in the Decepticon forces. Maybe something deep inside him changed. And maybe my treatment of him when he arrived on Earth broke him. I was the only thing he had left living for. Maybe his betrayal…"

Ratchet had a feeling about what Chromia would say. She trailed off, leaving another silence between the two of them.

"Maybe it's my fault," Chromia said. She shook her head, her optics meeting with Ratchet's. "Maybe his betrayal is my fault. Part of me believes this is true. It certainly seems very likely. I just don't know who else to talk to about it…"

"We've been friends for as long as I can remember, Chromia," Ratchet said, "Same goes for Breakaway and me. Some might say that we were inseparable, especially before the war. But as close as we were, he was closer to you. He loved you. And his betrayal is not your fault. I can sense that he still loves you, even if you might not think so. It is simply a matter of the one he is working with now: Slipstream. She has manipulated him and she is quite obviously using him to further her own ends. If there is anyone he's betrayed, it's himself. The Breakaway I knew would not have gone rogue under any circumstances. Something might have changed in him, but that's not because of you. He was mentally scarred from whatever he went through during his time undercover within Centurion's forces on Cybertron. It simply took someone like Slipstream to take advantage of a scarred mind such as his."

Ratchet paused for a moment, letting his words sink in. It pained him to see Chromia so morose. Under the confident exterior she was secretly falling apart emotionally. So much had happened in the past few days and yet he had a feeling that so much more was going to happen. There was more at stake here than ever before: if the legends about Unicron were true than the fate of not only their universe but many parallel ones hung in the balance. That is, if Unicron actually existed. There was still no solid evidence to be found, save for the crazed ramblings of Centurion who was quite obviously insane.

Chromia moved closer, suddenly looking very anxious. Ratchet could see the confliction across her face.

"I just can't help but think it's my fault," Chromia said, "I know you're trying to make me feel at ease and I appreciate that, I just can't shake the feeling that Breakaway went rogue because of me…"

"You don't know that's true," Ratchet interrupted. He placed a hand on Chromia's shoulder. "And I'm very certain it isn't true. When I encountered him and discovered that he had gone rogue, I thought I sensed that he was unsure of himself. It's all down to Slipstream: she's manipulating him. Breakaway is not himself. And I think we can bring him back to us, but we'll both need to try."

Chromia looked up and their eyes met again. Ratchet still had a hand on one of her shoulders. He kept it there in an effort to reassure her, to ease her of her uncertainties. Breakaway's betrayal was not anyone's fault but Breakaway's, along with Slipstream's added influence. At that moment the rest of the world seemed to fade as Ratchet concentrated solely on Chromia. She seemed somewhat beautiful, with the light shimmering across her face like it was now. Her blue optics glowed brightly, almost startlingly so.

"When Breakaway went undercover," Chromia began, giving the Cybertronian equivalent of a smile, "I lost the one I could confide in most. I suppose that's why I turned to you, since you were there where he no longer was."

It had been a while since Ratchet had been this close to a fellow Cybertronian. He kept his usual calm self though: he did not want to spoil the moment. Chromia was in a vulnerable state of mind. He did not want to take advantage of that for he was not the type to do so.

"Chromia…I'll always be here for you. You know that. Right now you're vulnerable, we all are. We're all under a lot of stress, we've all lost close friends. You may not be thinking in your right mind." Ratchet took his hand off of her shoulder. Chromia, however, stepped forwards and put her hands on either side of him. The way she caressed his sides was at the same time a surprise and a relief for Ratchet. Whatever doubts he had in his mind quickly faded.

"I…uh…well…" Ratchet, for the first time in a long time, found it difficult to form a cohesive sentence. Chromia continued to explore his form and Ratchet could do little to resist. 

* * *

Outside, in the evening light, the other Autobots were either in recharge (the Cybertronian equivalent of sleep) or were simply waiting around. Optimus Prime stood by one of the compound's buildings, pondering recent events and doing his best to keep an optimistic view on things. Major William Lennox was standing nearby, as well as Master Sergeant Robert Epps and Captain Graham Winters. NEST soldiers were milling about, preparing SUVs and Jeeps with mounted guns. A helicopter buzzed overhead, flying on into the distance towards the city lights on the horizon.

Nearby, the Twins, Skids and Mudflap were for once not bickering at one another. Rather, they sat quietly and contentedly. It was seldom that those two ever stopped having a go at each other. Today's events, however, were enough to make anyone demoralized.

Sideswipe, Smokescreen and Firestar were grouped nearby, effectively "folded up" into their vehicle modes as they recharged. Jolt was over by the far fence, keeping an eye on things and occasionally falling into a recharge state. He seemed awfully distant but that should not have been much of a surprise, especially since recent events had made practically everyone "distant".

Optimus gazed across the open plains of desert that surrounded the compound on all sides. It was a barren view but it was enough to put his mind somewhat at ease. There were so few Cybertronians left now and it seemed that fighting each other was a rather pointless exercise. He would have preferred peace, as any leader would have, but peace with Centurion was something that could never be attained. Centurion was insane but he was powerful and he had followers. So far Optimus had tallied up the Autobots losses ever since the arrival to Earth: First Jazz had been killed by Megatron during the battle in Los Angeles, and then Arcee had been killed during the battle in Egypt. In a mere few days they had lost Ironhide, Bumblebee and Depthcharge. Deadeye, the Prime's only offspring, was somewhere on the run with Sam Witwicky. Breakaway had gone rogue and had almost killed Ratchet. So many casualties yet so few answers. Centurion was after something, but none of the Autobots or anyone in NEST knew what.

The compound here made a regrouping point for the NEST forces. Lennox, being the one in charge here, had a map of the region spread out across a table before him. They were under a temporary camouflage shelter but in a manner so that Optimus could stand nearby and watch and listen.

Cybertronian scanning technology was certainly powerful and it had not taken much to trace Centurion's giveaway energy trail towards the human population centre known as "Las Vegas" before the interference he emitted began to wreak havoc with Autobot sensors. There was also some sort of other energy source, one that had much in common with the energy emitted by the Matrix of Leadership. It seemed logical to assume that someone had the Matrix with them and were trying to keep it out of Decepticon hands. They had gone into Las Vegas for some reason, whatever that reason may have been was open to speculation. And then there was the added factor of the rogue human organization after the technology for its own devious ends. It seemed to Optimus that things were gradually becoming more and more complicated.

The map Lennox had spread out across a table before him had several red markers stuck upon it. There were several and they centred around the city of Las Vegas as represented on the map. The Decepticons were headed into that city, this much was obvious. They may have been after the Matrix of Leadership or something different altogether, there was no way to tell.

"We're going to have to set up a perimeter around the city," Lennox explained. He was dirty and tired but was being driven by an insatiable need to finish what had been started. Centurion would pay for all the hell he had caused in recent days; that much was for certain.

"I've talked with the General: if we decide to move into the city the cover story's going to be a city-wide terrorist threat. Centurion was last detected on the factory outskirts but it is very likely he's changed position. We know for a fact that the Matrix of Leadership is inside the city. It is very likely that this is what he is after."

Optimus gazed towards the tired humans. The main trio seemed bordering on collapse but neither of them were going to let their exhaustion get the better of them. The day was not yet over and their duty called.

"It seems probable that my son has the Matrix of Leadership with him," Optimus interjected. Deadeye was somewhere in that city: Optimus wanted to find him, to make sure that he would never lose his only son again. He did not want a repeat of what had happened on Cybertron all those years ago, where Deadeye and Centurion had simply vanished. Somehow they had ended up on Earth in the present day. How was unknown but Optimus was not about to pass up the opportunity to contact his son. He needed to make amends, to forgive him for being a somewhat insensitive father…while he had been out fighting the war, Deadeye had been left to fend for himself, shaping into a very reckless and very arrogant young Autobot.

"If that is the case, we need to reach him as soon as possible," Optimus continued.

"We're going to be stretched pretty thin," Graham said, "If we encounter that Centurion bastard again we might not be able to hold him off. Street fighting is a real pain, especially with such a high risk of collateral damage."

"Civilians are going to be everywhere, regardless of whatever city-wide lockdown occurs," Epps added, "And the Decepticons probably ain't going to care about civilian casualties. I say we move in quickly, secure the Matrix of Leadership and then move out before Centurion and his friends have a chance to react."

"We're going to have to do _something_," Lennox said, practically exasperated. He yawned and then checked his watch. "We can't just stay here and do nothing. We need a plan and a really flawless one at that."

There was a lengthy silence amongst the group. Optimus knew that civilian casualties would be unavoidable during a street battle if it came to that. However, such an occurrence may prove to be a necessity if it means securing the Matrix of Leadership and eliminating Centurion.

"I suggest that we send a scouting party ahead first," Optimus said, "One that I will lead. Ratchet can come with me. The two of us will distract Centurion while the rest find the Matrix."

"The last time we split our team up Ironhide died," Epps said, shaking his head, "We can't afford to lose anymore of you Autobots, Optimus. We've lost enough already."

"We're going to have to go in there the old fashioned way," Graham suggested, "And we're going to have to hope that luck is on our side."

There was another lengthy pause between the members of the group. None seemed especially keen, primarily because luck had not been on their side for a good few days.

"What about collateral damage?" Epps asked, "We can't just roll into Las Vegas and start a fight."

"The needs of the many outweigh the needs of the few," Optimus stated absently. He was not a very strong believer in letting a few people die for a common good. However, the desperation of their situation was beginning to make it look like they would need to kill a few civilians to finally get the bad guys.

"You got that one out of_ Star Trek_," Lennox said. Optimus gave the Cybertronian equivalent of a shrug: where he had recovered the phrase from did not matter. The meaning behind it did.

There was the very distinct possibility in the back of everyone's mind that they may not survive another encounter with Centurion. There was always the possibility of dying, but it was all the more prominent now. When close friends were killed in battle, it simply reminded one's self of their mortality.

"We should just go," Graham said, "There's no use standing around here any longer. There's an Autobot in Las Vegas that needs our help. Whether or not we have a good plan to rescue him isn't something we should waste our time thinking about. I say we go in and get him and anyone else with him, whether that be our friend Sam or someone else. We need to get that Matrix of Leadership since it's probably the only thing Centurion needs to carry out whatever mad scheme he's got planned. The longer we wait here the more time Centurion and his friends have to get coordinated and prepare what I see as an inevitable attack."

Lennox and Epps seemed to nod in agreement, if only slightly. Optimus, for once, was unable to come up with a better scheme. Deadeye was definitely in Las Vegas, as was the Matrix of Leadership. And Centurion was there as well, biding his time and planning carefully as he so often did. Sooner or later he would begin his assault and there was no telling how many humans would die in the crossfire. Trying to stop Centurion, on the other hand, may lead to human innocents getting killed anyway. If this meant stopping him from getting the Matrix of Leadership then it was probably in their best interests to do it.

"It's your call, Optimus," Lennox said, "Do we move in now or wait?"

"We move in now," Optimus replied without hesitation, "And we hope, as Graham said, that luck is on our side."

It seemed doubtful to any of them that luck was on their side. Only time would tell.


	15. Allegiances

**Allegiances  
**Las Vegas, Nevada  
December 17th, 2010

The city of Las Vegas was full of bright lights, noise and other general nuances that Centurion was not very fond of. Humans overall annoyed Centurion and he was looking forward to witnessing their planet burn when Unicron finally returned. Until then, he would do his best to kill as many as he could, especially when he made his move on the city.

He was within the grounds of a power plant on the outskirts of the city, out of the way of prying human eyes. He had followed the Matrix of Leadership to the city, although he was aware that the Matrix itself had been destroyed earlier today. Now its power had been transferred into the human, Sam Witwicky, who in turn was suffering some unfortunate side effects. Sam's new energy signatures were being cleverly shielded by the Autobot, Deadeye. It would take some doing to track them down and Centurion was itching to get rid of Deadeye for good.

It had been Deadeye that had originally hampered his plans, teleporting to this world with Centurion from Cybertron. That had been about seventy years before, depositing them on the planet during a large scale human war. Deadeye had overloaded Centurion's device, knocking them both out and accelerating them forwards through time to the present day. Somehow Deadeye had survived the whole ordeal and was once again trying his best to thwart Centurion's schemes. This was something that Centurion did not wish to continue. He would kill Deadeye and probably break the Autobot leader, Optimus Prime, in the process. Deadeye was the Prime's only offspring after all. Centurion was sure the Prime was looking forward to a nice family reunion; one Centurion would try and work on denying him.

In the meantime, Centurion would wait. Megatron was nearby, being repaired by a Decepticon "Doctor" of sorts: the Doctor was about three feet tall, skinny and fragile. It would not take much to simply trample on the small Decepticon and break him. Centurion needed Megatron alive though, so the Doctor would have to remain alive until Megatron was fixed. Then Centurion would have his fun with the annoying little critter.

The voice in Centurion's head, the one that he knew belonged to Unicron, had mentioned something about having "plans" for Megatron. There was no need to deny a God's order and kill Megatron, even if this was perhaps the best course of action in Centurion's view. Centurion did not see Megatron as an equal, nor any other Cybertronian for that matter. Megatron had had his chance to prove himself by helping the Fallen. That had failed and so Centurion would be in charge of things from here on. Failure, in Centurion's view, was not an option. Not this time around. The Matrix was required; in this case that was Sam Witwicky. With it, they could raise the unborn army of Decepticons on the _Nemesis_ and use it to obliterate the planet. And Centurion needed the Spear of Destiny, something that was currently somewhere in the city as well. He had become aware of a group of meddling humans since he had executed Depthcharge over in the town of Tranquility. He had pursued them but they had escaped and now they were in Las Vegas as well, probably after Sam. Whoever they were Centurion had little concern about them for they were mere humans, unaffiliated with the Autobots. They should pose no threat to him or any other Decepticon for that matter.

The Doctor was jittering away, speaking to himself in a quiet but high-pitched voice. Nothing he said was clearly audible and he was obviously mentally unstable. The last Decepticon "Doctor" had been killed during a shootout between some Autobots and Decepticons a couple of years ago, just prior to Optimus Prime's "death". Too bad that death had not lasted too long, otherwise Centurion would not need to worry himself about the Autobots threat as much as he was now.

Megatron seemed to be emerging from his "unconsciousness", pushing the Doctor off of his frame with ease. The annoying critter tumbled and fell, jittering angrily. Above, a familiar jet roared overhead: Starscream was on air reconnaissance, having since had his optics repaired after the battle earlier today. Centurion thought little of the subordinate, finding him untrustworthy and an overall irritating character. If Starscream were to suffer an unfortunate "accident", Centurion would not care at all.

Megatron stood up, being only a few feet shorter than the imposing figure of Centurion. He seemed annoyed, perhaps understandably so. Somewhat unsurprisingly, he crushed the Decepticon Doctor under one foot, the annoying critter being silenced then and there with a subdued _crunch_. He then shifted his gaze towards Centurion, who gazed across the grounds of the power plant with vague interest. His scanners were taking in the vista that was the city of Las Vegas before them, zooming in on certain things, taking readings and otherwise keeping watch.

"I don't know what you're game is, Centurion," Megatron said, his voice laced with dislike, "Much of what you've done since your arrival on this world is an enigma. First you go after some ancient Spear, then you get the Matrix, then you disable _me_ and repair me. Why? Why not just kill me outright? If our positions were reversed, I would have killed you already."

"You fail to see the big picture, Megatron," Centurion said, turning his gaze to the other Decepticon, "My master has plans for you. I simply disabled you since you were being a nuisance. I could have easily killed you instead, but I did not. Be grateful for that."

Megatron leered, as if he found the whole idea to be rubbish.

"Who is your master, Centurion? Who? Unicron? You cannot be serious. Unicron is an old legend, a scary story told to younglings to frighten them. If he really does exist, where is he? I see no proof of his existence."

Centurion shook his head in a rather condescending manner.

"I have seen him, Megatron. He gave me power and knowledge in order to carry out a mission for him."

"And what might that mission be?"

Centurion thought carefully about what to say. Megatron was a sceptic which was no surprise considering his master, the Fallen, had never once said anything about Unicron to him. The Fallen had once been Unicron's most powerful follower. Once Unicron was out of the picture the Fallen would have, quite naturally, placed himself as the main power above the Decepticons.

"Many years ago, on Cybertron, I was one of the few researchers attempting to decipher the secrets of the All-spark," Centurion said, "Our race knew so little about it, yet it was the basis of our civilization. My research and experiments with the All-spark proved that it was possible to open a doorway to another dimension, proving Sentinel Prime's Multiverse theory. Where he said there were eighteen dimensions, I discovered that within our own dimension, the third one, that there was an infinite number of alternate realities. Every decision made, no matter how insignificant, has an infinite number of possibilities played out in other realities."

"This is insane…" Megatron began, but he was interrupted.

"Do you want me to continue?" Centurion asked, "I seldom tell people about my research. I simply want to convince you that what we are doing is right and that we shall be well-rewarded when Unicron returns. The ability to travel between parallel universes is an amazing one, Megatron. We could each have our own to rule. Think about it: an entire universe our own."

"I'm listening," Megatron said simply, still doubtful.

"I conducted an experiment one day," Centurion explained, "It was to open a portal to another reality. Instead, it took me into the void between alternate realities where nothing but…" He trailed off. His mind had still not recovered from what he had seen there. "Can you imagine a place, Megatron, where absolutely nothing exists?"

"That's impossible."

"That's what the void is: impossible. It existed, yet at the same time it did not exist. It was a paradox and I would have gone insane if it were not for finding Unicron in that place."

Megatron had thought of interjecting then and there, saying that Centurion was already insane but he decided against it. He did not need to be knocked out of commission again and so decided to let Centurion continue speaking, regardless of our unbelievable it may have sounded.

"Unicron had been there for countless millennia, having been expelled there by Primus who had been locked in an eternal struggle with Unicron. Unicron had managed to break free of this forever-lasting battle but was thrown into the void in the process where he was trapped, his ability to traverse the Multiverse lost. He found me and he taught me all that I know now and gave me powers to carry out a mission for him."

_He brainwashed you_, Megatron thought. This would explain Centurion's often fanatical loyalty to Unicron, whether or not the God-like figure really did exist. It unnerved Megatron slightly when he remembered what Centurion had said about Unicron "having plans for him". If Unicron did exist then there was no telling what those "plans" might have been.

"There is a way to bring him into our reality, to free him from his eternal prison," Centurion said, "My trip into the void was only temporary but it was long enough for Unicron to tell me exactly what I had to do. In many of the alternate Earths he had visited, there had always been a great machine built by our ancestors to honour Unicron as a God, to give him sacrifices and so forth. It is this machine that is capable of opening a bridge into the void large enough for Unicron to cross over. We simply need a means to work the machine and that is why we need the Matrix and the Spear."

"And then what? What happens when Unicron passes into our reality?" Megatron asked. It was all starting to sound strangely credible but Megatron was still quite doubtful of it all. If Unicron was as big and as bad as the old stories made him out to be, it was probably not a wise idea to bring him out of his "eternal prison" in the void. Either that or it was all just a delusion Centurion had. Either way, Megatron knew he would have to be very careful.

"He grants us the powers to transcend space and time," Centurion said, "And he lays waste to this world, to this universe before moving on to another. You and I will become Gods and the human race, in this reality, will be wiped out."

The idea of becoming a God was certainly a fascinating one but Megatron was not about to believe any of what Centurion said. It was simply a bit too much to believe at once, especially when most of it had to do with a figure who was more or less some sort of ancient legend and not one whose existence could be solidly proven.

"The Multiverse is a fascinating place," Centurion said, "I've seen Earths ruled by you, by Starscream or by myself. I've seen Earths where the humans lived under an oppressive government, where pollution has wiped out most of the wildlife, where nuclear war has devastated the planet. The humans do not deserve a world like Earth for they are prone to destroying it in most realities.

"Unicron has attempted to be freed many times before. Not once has he succeeded, not once have any of the Centurions from other realities succeeded in freeing him. I intend to be the exception to that rule. Did you know, Megatron, that your deceased master, the Fallen, had tried to pull the same scheme he presented you on many other alternate Earths? You were simply the one Megatron who got him killed…"

"The Fallen's death was not my fault," Megatron interrupted rather defensively, "He should have known better, especially after the Prime was brought back from the dead."

"If I were to promise you the chance to kill him again, would you swear your loyalty to me?"

The question was one Megatron had not been expecting. Of course he would love to kill Optimus Prime; he just did not like the idea of swearing his loyalty to someone as crazy as Centurion.

"I'll think about it," Megatron replied.

There was a long silence between the two. Centurion returned his gaze towards the city while Megatron stood in place, unsure about what he should do. He could not kill Centurion, not while he had the nigh on impenetrable energy shield shimmering over his form. He would have to play along and wait for an opportunity to be rid of the madman to come up, whenever that would be.

"We will move into the city in fifteen minutes," Centurion stated, "Sam Witwicky carries with him the power of the Matrix, so we must acquire him. The humans have the Spear, so we must acquire that as well. We will have to move quickly once we're in the city since NEST is not far behind us."

"How many of us will there be?" Megatron asked.

"I've arranged to have several of the protoforms on board the _Nemesis_ brought to life, but otherwise we will be stretched thin. Our numbers are small, but the Autobots have even less. They should not be much of a threat to us, especially with an informant among their ranks."

"An informant?" Megatron was surprised to hear this. "How did you put a spy in the Autobot forces?"

"I implanted the Autobot known as 'Jolt' with a neural virus. It will slowly overwrite his personality until he is a loyal servant to me, and Unicron. He will act as an informer and feed us information accordingly."

"And you can implant this virus into anyone?" Megatron was unnerved.

"Yes, but it slowly degenerates their nervous system. In a few days Jolt will become an 'empty shell', so to speak and die accordingly. Until then, he's our spy. You have always wondered how I was able to gain so many followers. Now you know, except I gave my followers only small controlled amounts of the virus. That way they don't die. I needed to give a large dose to Jolt, for he was a loyal Autobot and loyalty like that can be hard to break."

Megatron simply nodded in understanding. Centurion looked like he was about to say something when the sound of jet engines became audible. Behind them, a pair of black jets of slightly differing variants flew into the grounds of the power plant. Both transformed into Breakaway and Slipstream respectively, both landing on their feet a short distance from where Megatron and Centurion were standing.

Megatron was surprised to see the Autobot Breakaway there and he had never seen Slipstream before. Breakaway was different in appearance though: gone was his desert brown camouflage pattern, replaced with a dark grey and black matte colour. His optics were red instead of the usual Autobot blue. Slipstream looked a bit alike but was slightly shorter and slimmer, with her jet's wings across her back much like Starscream had.

Centurion turned around and saw both Seekers. He seemed to make a double take when he saw Breakaway.

"Breakaway! You traitor!" Centurion roared, starting towards the Autobot Seeker. However, the other Seeker stepped in between the two, something that Megatron saw as rather brave when in the face of Centurion.

"Father, please stop. He's with me now." The Seeker was female and she seemed rather defensive of Breakaway. Megatron was certainly surprised to hear her refer to Centurion as "Father".

"Slipstream, what is the meaning of this?" Centurion said, his gaze going to Breakaway. Both seemed to be levelling up the other for a fight.

"He's with us," Slipstream said, "He decided that the Autobots were too weak and fighting for the wrong cause. That's why he switched sides."

"He betrayed me before," Centurion said, his tone even, "He was working undercover for the Autobots in my forces back on Cybertron. He cannot be trusted. He was the one who tipped them off about the location of my headquarters and that's what lead to Deadeye's interference with my plans here on Earth. If it wasn't for him Unicron would be free already. Move out of my way so I can kill him."

"Get over it, Centurion," Breakaway interjected in a rather condescending manner, "I didn't like working for the Autobots and I certainly don't like working for you. Just be thankful I'm not getting in your way."

"I can kill you easily," Centurion spat, "But I think I slow, painful death is in order."

"Father, please! Breakaway and I…we're as close to each other as we can get." She seemed a bit sheepish all of a sudden. Megatron was beginning to find the whole standoff rather entertaining.

"What? You mated with him?"

"More than once," Breakaway added, "Why? Does that piss you off?"

Centurion stepped forward, his right arm transforming into a jagged metal blade. Slipstream moved into his way again, blocking his route to Breakaway.

"I think you should get over this whole betrayal thing," Breakaway continued, "It's getting old. I'm not going to change sides as long as Slipstream is standing by me."

"Is that why you changed sides? Just so you could mate with my daughter?"

"No…It's because the Autobots didn't treat me nicely when I arrived here on this planet. Some of them thought I was too 'Decepticon' for them, after my undercover work. They thought I had too much of a ruthless streak inside me. I suppose they were right." He shrugged.

Megatron stepped forward, deciding to have his say. If Breakaway and Slipstream were not too willing to work for Centurion, they may be easily convinced to work for him. He would betray Centurion soon enough and the extra help, in the form of Breakaway and Slipstream, wouldn't hurt. Besides, he could sense something a bit "off" about the two of them. Centurion might have sensed it but since his daughter was involved it might have made it less prominent. Megatron, on the other hand, had no trouble seeing the lies behind Breakaway and Slipstream.

"We could use two more Seekers," Megatron said, "Especially two skilled fighters such as Breakaway and Slipstream. I suggest we let them prove themselves during the operation we launch against the city of Las Vegas. And, if they do well there, we might let them join our team permanently. I for one know that Breakaway is good at what he does…I don't know about your daughter."

"She's not even supposed to be on this planet," Centurion said, "She must have stowed away on board Tidal Wave when he left Cybertron. In any other circumstances I would punish her severely for going against my wishes, but now that she's here and so closely tied with Breakaway I think I may as well use her."

"Good to see you use reason for once, Centurion," Breakaway said, giving the robotic equivalent of a smile. Centurion shot him a glare but Breakaway either didn't care or didn't notice. Rather, Breakaway continued talking: "It's always seemed to me that you're always using those crazy beliefs of yours to justify your actions, rather than common sense."

"You're lucky I don't just kill you now," Centurion stated, his tone level but intimidating.

"Uh-huh. Whatever you say." Breakaway seemed disinterested. He turned to Megatron, practically beaming. "Nice weather, huh, Megatron?"

"Do not push your luck, Breakaway," Megatron said. Breakaway shrugged again and turned to Slipstream. The pair began to speak quietly to each other. Centurion lost interest in the pair and turned to Megatron.

"Do not say anything, Megatron," Centurion said, "Do not speak about my daughter or the fact that she has mated with an Autobot. Do not tell anyone else about it. I want this to be kept quiet."

"Why? Are you afraid it'll hurt your image?" Megatron smiled. "Your image is already hurt enough. All of us think you're insane."

"I am not insane," Centurion said, "And I will prove it in due time. Until then, you can think what you want."

There was a lengthy silence between the two. Megatron was beginning to think that tonight was proving to be a very interesting night. Breakaway and Slipstream…who would have thought? Then again, they seemed like an almost perfect couple. And once again Megatron sensed that something was not quite right about them. He had always been able to tell when Starscream would betray him and had thwarted his attempts accordingly. Breakaway and Slipstream were up to something similar.

"What's the plan for tonight, Centurion?" Breakaway asked turning to Centurion, "Or will it be another of your 'shoot the place up' missions?"

"You have a smart mouth, Breakaway," Centurion said, "Sooner or later it'll get you killed."

"I doubt it."

"I don't." Centurion paused for a moment, letting his words sink in. He continued shortly afterwards: "The plan is to secure both the human boy, Sam Witwicky, as well as the Spear of Destiny. Both are somewhere in the city. NEST and the Autobots are not too far behind, so it's perhaps best if we make our move on the city shortly."

"What about a plan of approach?" Breakaway asked, "Or do we just walk in and trample humans as we go?"

"You and Slipstream will provide aerial support, as well as Starscream," Centurion said, "Megatron, myself and several others will be on the ground and moving into the city from different directions. The Autobot, Deadeye, is guarding Sam and will probably be the first sign of resistance we encounter. I will see to it personally that he is killed."

"I take it you don't like Deadeye?"

"He has caused me trouble in the past. For that, I want to punish him accordingly."

"Sounds real nice. Anything else we should know?" Breakaway was being sarcastic, this much was obvious. He must not have thought much of Centurion.

Centurion took a moment to reply.

"No, not that I can think of. Everything else should run smoothly enough. When we are done, we should have Sam and the Spear. With both, we can go straight to the next phase of the operation."  
"What's that?"

"We find the machine our ancestors built and use it to bring Unicron out of his prison in the inter-dimensional void."

Breakaway exchanged glances with Megatron. Neither believed anything about Unicron or the "void" but neither was game enough to speak out about it. For once, Megatron had no other choice but to play along with Centurion's madness.


	16. The Strip

**The Strip  
**Las Vegas, Nevada  
December 17th, 2010

"Hey, pal, could you hurry up? I've got an important phone call I've got to make."

Ex-Sector Seven Agent Seymour Simmons had been standing behind a well-dressed businessman for about ten minutes, waiting in line to use the only pay phone inside the diner. The businessman, who seemed the type who would have a mobile phone, was taking his time. He droned on and on about upcoming meetings and recent occurrences within the firm he worked at while Simmons was left to effectively twiddle his thumbs as he waited to use the phone. In this day and age, payphones were close to becoming obsolete but when someone did need to use one there never seemed to be any around…and if there were any available they were always in use and required agonizingly long waits.

The diner was a small but reasonably well-maintained affair, with a bar and kitchen as well as adjoining restaurant area. The cooks here specialized in steaks and other meats, although at this time of night the kitchen was empty. Only the bar area remained in operation this late, supplying what few patrons there were with assorted beverages. The décor of the place was a modern but almost classy feel, with dark red carpet and brown walls. Music filtered through the speakers in the ceiling quietly while a plasma television in the corner blared loudly, presenting a late night news report concerning recent "terrorist" attacks. Sure, the Decepticons could be called terrorists but they were nowhere near to resembling what most people were thinking of when watching the news.

Sam Witwicky, outfitted in a heavy grey trench coat that was a few sizes too large, was seated at the bar. He hid his no longer human right arm under the coat, using his left to handle the bottle of Mountain Dew near him. He had to resist the impulse to use his right hand and inadvertently reveal it to the people near him, as his right hand was his proficient hand. He felt ill and blood had since stained most of his shirt. The sight of a bloodied young man would have most certainly raised suspicion, thus he had buttoned up his coat and hid the blood stains from plain sight. Though it was out of sight, it was most certainly not out of mind: Sam could not stop thinking about it, unable to grasp what was happening to him and why. Not only that but he had the fact that he had actually killed someone weighing on his mind: that Sector Eight goon that had been with Weller earlier, when the two had showed up at the hotel room. Somehow Sam had transformed his Cybertronian right arm into an energy cannon, much like he had seen the actual Cybertronians do in the past. It had cemented the fact that he was turning into something quite like them and it also presented the problem of learning how to control such changes. The transformation had been spontaneous and his subsequent actions even more so. He had killed a man, blowing him all over the back wall in a rather grisly display of advanced firepower. He had never thought he would kill a human being. He had never been the aggressive type, he had never been good at getting into fights and winning them. Events in the last few years had toughened him up somewhat but there were still things he could never envision himself doing, like killing a man. Yet he had essentially murdered someone earlier tonight. Sure, it had been in self defence but even so it was enough to send him into a guilt-ridden and downbeat mood.

He could feel metallic tendrils slowly working their way from his transformed shoulder and across his neck and up his face. They were not directly visible now but the itchy metallic blotches that were appearing across his body were somewhat more noticeable. The coat he wore hid most but there was one at the left side of his neck that was in direct view of anyone who might have happened to glance in his direction. It itched stubbornly and occasionally he would scratch it, much like someone would unwittingly scratch a bothersome mosquito bite without realizing until they had started scratching it. The more he scratched the more the human skin would peel away, leaving a raw metal-flesh combination. And the longer he sat here and waited the more the blotches would spread, forming almost artificial shapes. The plating across his Cybertronian right arm was much the same as that on an ordinary Cybertronian. It seemed he was getting everything, including the armour.

Exterior changes aside, he could feel his insides churning and shifting. The bones in his Cybertronian right arm had since been changed into some sort of strong, Cybertronian endoskeleton. As the change spread through him his bones would crack and break and otherwise alter completely. Strangely enough, the more it spread the less it would hurt. Eventually none of his bones would be human ones and eventually the whole transformation would be complete. It sickened him, to think he was turning into some sort of Cybertronian-human hybrid. However, he was resigned to this fate now, containing only some sort of slight hope that maybe the Autobots could help. The only problem was getting in touch with them, Ratchet especially since he would know the most about this sort of thing.

Sam looked at the half full Mountain Dew bottle and simply shook his head. Any other time he would have been happy to down some soft drink but now…now he would look at it and feel sick, as if his body was telling him that it no longer needed the hydration. It was a startling thought but it seemed to make sense, judging from what was happening to him. Since when did a Cybertronian need to drink?

He sighed, his throat dry and aching yet he could not bring himself to drink anymore. Every time he did his stomach would churn and he would feel nauseous. Eventually this transformation would finish and then he would no longer need to eat or drink…he knew he would miss those small luxuries but at the same time it took a load off his mind. Maybe he would be better off in his new form, maybe not. It was impossible to be certain. Diseases would no longer affect him, which was a bonus. Then again, did Cybertronians have their own sorts of diseases? He shook his head, trying to wrap his head around it all. There was too much to consider and he was in no state to really put some heavy thought into it all, not now, not after having killed someone. The sheer thought further fuelled the guilt he felt: he felt it towards Bumblebee's death, he felt it towards what was happening to him and now he felt it towards killing a man he had not even known. If Colonel Weller had introduced the man then Sam could not remember.

What was it that Sam had heard Clint Eastwood say once, in one of his movies? _"When you kill a man, you take away everything he has and everything he will have."_ This was true enough: the man Sam had killed had lost everything and anything that he would have gotten in the future was now out of his reach. Death was the end all and it was inevitable: some people just went sooner than others. It still did not make Sam feel any better, thinking about it like this. He had always known that killing was wrong, yet part of him felt satisfied, as if killing someone for the first time had opened up a whole new realm of possibilities for him. Once that first hurdle seemingly insurmountable hurdle was jumped the rest would seem easy…And the more one would kill, the easier it would become. Practice made perfect, after all.

Jones Marshall and James Turner sat near him. Jones was quiet, occasionally glancing at Sam, probably trying to satisfy his curiosity about Sam's gradual transformation. James seemed downbeat, carefully sipping from his glass of scotch while eyeing the television in the corner. He took in the late night news with an indifferent gaze, figuring that he was partly involved in the so-called "terrorist" attacks being described. Sam, Jones, James and Simmons had all become part of something much larger, something they were only beginning to scratch the surface of.

Sam eyed his Mountain Dew bottle again, moving to grab it with his left hand. The itchy blotches on his neck had been bothering him the last few minutes so before grabbing the bottle he put his hand to them, scratching at them in a furious attempt to ease the irritation. Dead skin scraped away as his nails worked at the irritated area and trace amounts of blood worked their way onto his fingers. As soon as the layer of skin was broken he could feel a much harder, almost metal layer underneath. It unnerved him, especially as he could feel the irritation slowly spread. His eyes were also irritated, appearing as bloodshot and feeling dry. The right eye hurt especially, tearing up involuntarily whenever he rubbed it. It occurred to him that his body was almost literally falling apart in order to make way for his new form, whatever that would ultimately resemble.

He used his left hand to grab the Mountain Dew bottle, slowly working the neck to his lips. He took a sip and immediately regretted it, feeling his stomach churn and a wave of nausea overtake him. He put the bottle down and was overcome with a coughing fit, one that sent blue-tinged spittle flying about. James shifted his gaze from the television set to Sam, some concern evident on his features.

"Are you alright?" James asked.

"Do I look alright?" Sam rebutted. James frowned, turning to face the younger man.

Sam, at any other time, would have appreciated the priest's concern for him. Unfortunately, Sam was in a rather bad mood and this was made evident by the annoyed tone he spoke in. James seemed to consider what to say for a moment, as if weighing each possibility in his mind carefully. He could certainly tell that Sam was in a bad, guilt-ridden mood.

"Sam," James began slowly, his tone somewhat easy, "For once in my life I don't know what to say. I've always thought that I've had the answers, I've always told people what they want to hear. I'm a priest after all, it's my job to give people advice. For a while I thought I was helping people, making them feel better about themselves no matter how shitty their life actually was. But as time went on, I guess I became a bit complacent, simply delivering the advice as a routine. I wasn't putting any thought into it. I was telling people what to hear. I became increasingly caught up in my pursuit of the truth concerning the Cybertronians. I lost whatever it was that had made me a good priest. And now, now I see you, what you're going though, what big, amazing things you're involved with…It makes me think that maybe I've strayed too far from what I'm meant to be doing: that's giving advice. It's what I've always done, although it's become mere routine."

Sam listened as the priest delivered this seemingly heartfelt speech. Whatever point James was trying to make had not yet been reached. Sam pushed aside the bottom of Mountain Dew and relaxed into his seat. James watched him, trying to work out what he should say to this obviously guilt-ridden, downbeat and defeated young man.

"What's happening now has renewed my sense of purpose," James continued, "It's just that…I don't know what I should say to you, Sam. Do you want my sympathy? You said earlier today, when we were at the gas station that you didn't want it. Do you want me to tell you everything will be alright? That's called denial, Sam. And I'm sick of seeing you so defeated. You should be standing up in the face of all the shit life throws at you and not let it get you down. Sure, you might have lost a friend, you might be in a lot of physical pain and you might have killed a man…but you shouldn't give up now. Not when the fate of humanity is at stake."

"What are you saying?" Sam asked, turning to face the priest, "That I should be getting out there and helping to kill Decepticons rather than wallowing in my own miseries?" He paused, unable to help feel a bit annoyed at the priest's sentiments. "I can't do that, not now. Not after what's happened today. Every time I stick my head out of the fucking gutter, fate shovels shit into my face. You might believe in fate and destiny and all that bullshit…I don't. I never have. I had a vision once, when I was dying, that some old robots told me it was my destiny to earn the Matrix of Leadership. I wish that had never happened. Death would have been easier."

"You'd rather be dead?" James raised an eyebrow as he said this. "Or would you have preferred to have never gotten the Matrix? That's what's done this to you: the Matrix. But have you ever considered that maybe it's your destiny? To go through what is definitely one hell of a painful transformation…yet you carry the power of the Matrix within you. All you have to do is learn how to control it."

"Control it? Like what? The Force?" Sam shook his head. "Please, that is such bullshit."

"It ain't bullshit," James said bluntly, "You could do a lot of good with the power of the Matrix of Leadership. A lot of good…"

"**Or you could help me…"**

The last voice had not been from Sam or James or anyone else in that matter. Sam felt that presence in his mind again, far back in those darker recesses. It was reaching out to him, trying to communicate with him and probably control him. It chilled him to the bone, to think that he was hearing voices in his head. Wasn't that the first sign of madness? He decided not to think about it anymore.

"Sam, you look like you've seen a ghost," James commented, noticing how pale Sam had gone, "Did something I say scare you? I can understand, what with the prospect being daunting…"

"Bullshit," Sam replied, "You don't understand it. You know why? It's not happening to you. That's why. You didn't lose a friend, you didn't kill a man…"

"You even said so yourself that it was an accident," James interrupted, "Don't blame yourself for something you can't control. I don't think you'd kill anyone without a good reason to."

"They were going to capture me, probably experiment on me," Sam said, "I was under a lot of stress…"

He trailed off, realizing something. It made sense that his Cybertronian arm had changed into weapon form when he was under stress: this seemed like the logical instinctual reaction. There was either fight or flight and he had instinctually chosen fight. And he had proceeded to blast away one man and almost kill another.

"That's just it. You were under stress. Something inside you snapped and you shot someone." James took another sip from his glass of scotch before continuing. "Anyone in that situation would have reacted similarly, if not the same. If someone was threatening to kidnap me I might be inclined to fight against them."

"It's hard, trying to come to terms with killing someone," Sam said, shaking his head. "I'll probably get over it but right now it's eating away at my conscience, like some sort of parasite."

"It's a harsh lesson," James replied, "But it's a good indicator that you'll be able to control your changing body. If your arm changed into a weapon under stress then there is probably a way to do it willingly, it'll just take some practice."

"What if I can get it fixed?" Sam asked, although even this seemed like a vain hope, "Ratchet should be able to help me. I just need to get in touch with him."

"And that's exactly what Simmons is doing now," James said. They glanced over at where Simmons was, seeing that he was finally on the payphone trying to get in touch with NEST. It would probably take a lot of figurative jumping through hoops but it should be possible to get in touch, even if that meant getting transferred to a so-called "nutter's desk" in some government agency.

"I'll be surprised if they accept his call," Sam said, "It's not like you can just ring up NEST."

"I'm sure we'll get in touch with them sooner or later," James said, "I'm just worried that by the time we do we…uh…" He trailed off, contemplating the thought. Sam knew exactly what he was thinking.

"That it would be too late for me?" Sam sighed. It probably already was too late. "As long as those Decepticons don't get their hands on me I think I'll be fine."

Jones turned around to face the pair, his eyes wide.

"If they're after you, is hanging around in this restaurant such a good idea?" He asked, delivering a valid point.

"Where would you prefer we go?" James asked, "We're going to need to stop and call NEST eventually. Better to do it in a nice place like this than some dump out in the desert."

"And if those evil robot assholes come knockin', then what?" Jones asked, "We're screwed, that's what. Ain't no use trying to fight those bastards."

"Deadeye's keeping watch outside," James said, trying to reassure the quite worried Jones Marshall, "He'll give us plenty of notice if any Decepticons show up."

"Decepticons are _deceptive_," Jones replied, "By the time he works out that one of them's outside we'll only have a few seconds to react. I'd prefer it if we left and just got the hell out of this city."

Sam could tell that Jones was the most worried one in their group. It made sense, since he was simply an innocent bystander who had been dragged into the whole situation. Still, now that he was involved Sam figured that Jones would be better off keeping his mouth shut to avoid causing conflict within the group.

"And where the hell would we go?" Sam asked, "There's desert all around Las Vegas and we'd be a far easier target out there than we are in the city. At least in the city we have plenty of cover."

"If some robot brawl starts up in the city it'll risk the lives of civilians," Jones said bluntly, "I don't need some civilian deaths on my conscience. That shit ain't right."

"Since when did you look at the big picture?"

"I've decided to make it a habit seeing how I'm stuck in this mess until it's over…_if_ it's ever over." Jones answered.

What followed was a brief and somewhat awkward silence. Jones returned to his previous silent, pondering state as he gradually downed a bottle of coke.

Sam suddenly felt a splitting ache in his chest, one that seemed to bore right through him and deeper still. He groaned, falling forwards and almost passing out on the bar counter in front of him. The world spun around him as the faces of concerned patrons turned to him, trying to work out what was the problem.

He steadied himself and slowly rose out of his chair. James looked at him, concerned etched on his ageing features.

"Where are you going?" James asked.

Sam did not hear him as he started walking for the male toilet block, pushing open the door and stumbling inside. He was alone within the well cleaned toilet block and so he took the chance to open the coat, groaning as pain shot through his chest. As his shaking hands went to work at lifting up his shirt he felt a sudden upheaval in his stomach and he threw up into the sink, sending blue-white energon fluid and blood splattering into the basin. However, that was not all: pieces of what were undoubtedly important internal organs soon followed. The bloody, gunky mess had splattered not only within the basin but all over the bench the basin formed part of. In a futile gesture he used a coat sleeve to wipe some of it aside but it did little else but spread the mess even further.

Slowly he used his left hand to pick up a rubbery chunk of what could have been his pancreas, or his intestines or…He had no idea. They all looked the same, all bloodied and seemingly rejected by his changing body. He threw the piece into the sink, working his shirt with both his human left hand and Cybertronian right hand. Lifting it up his felt a chill as he saw what had begun to develop at his chest: a hard, metal shell was forming in the centre of his chest and was spread, slowly creating a cavity that practically resembled the place where a Cybertronian would contain their life-spark. He pulled his bloodstained shirt down again, shaking as he did so.

He was turning into one of _them_, a Cybertronian. How much time he had left as a human was hard to determine but by the way the transformation seemed to be accelerating…He doubted he had much time left at all. He needed help and he needed it quite quickly. Whether anyone would be able to help him or not was unknown but he would have preferred to find out.

He looked down at the bloodied, vile mess in the sink and shook his head. What would happen if someone saw that mess, if some random patron walked in and saw that someone had almost quite literally spilt their guts into the sink? Sam decided not to worry about it as there were many other things that were concerning him, such as whether he would survive the transformation or not. The way it was getting rid of every unneeded organic human part of him was sickening: how could he survive without part of his intestines or whatever the hell he had thrown up? He needed those parts otherwise he would die. However, the way the Cybertronian part of him had started to compensate and replace his human parts hinted that he would survive: as more human parts were rejected his Cybertronian parts would replace them and keep him alive and running.

He stumbled out of the bathroom, receiving a few odd looks from patrons as he walked back towards the bar. Jones and James were standing up and Simmons was with them, talking to them. They watched as Sam walked over, unsure about what to say. Finally, Simmons spoke, deciding to break the awkward silence that had fallen between them.

"You look like you ate a whole pot of rancid yoghurt," Simmons said in his usual chirpy manner, "Are you feeling alright? Or is that a stupid question?"

"That's a stupid question."

"Oh…"

James turned to Sam, noticing the awkwardness that was between them. None of them knew just how to treat Sam now that he was going through some sort of physical hell. As a result, none of the three felt comfortable near the young college student.

"Simmons was just telling us the situation," James said.

"Turns out NEST's already been sent here to Las Vegas," Simmons added, "They've been tracking the Decepticons."

"And that means those Decepticon assholes are in the city as well," Jones interjected, "I don't like that. I think we should leave. Really quickly."

"Aw, give us a break Jonesy," Simmons said, sounding annoyed, "It seems all you ever think about is saving your own ass. I don't know about you, but we have a job to do and that's to get Sammy-boy here to his robot friends in NEST so they can help him out with his…uh…_problem_. If you want to leave, go ahead. None of us are going to care."

Jones seemed taken aback by the statement, if only briefly. He quickly composed himself, shook his head and shrugged.

"You guys are nuts," Jones said, "But I ain't leaving. I want to see this shit through."

"Good to hear, bud." Simmons slapped Jones on the back rather hard but in a friendly manner. Jones seemed at a loss on how to react and simply kept a stupid look on his face.

"Those NEST boys are down at the southern outskirts of the city," Simmons said, shifting his attention back to Sam, "All we gotta do is go down there, meet up with them and show your robot friend Ratchet your problem. Trouble is, the Decepticons are probably waiting for you to reveal yourself."

"They're probably already on their way here," Jones said, somewhat sourly.

"Exactly. That's why we gotta leave."

Sam nodded. The earlier they left the faster they would make contact with NEST. Outside, the sounds of traffic and of pedestrians drowned out much of the other background noise…such as the sound of a jet screaming up high. Immediately a car began sounding it's horn from outside, again and again. The group shifted their gaze to the windows, seeing that Deadeye's vehicle form out in the parking lot had lit up all its lights and was flashing them in warning. The car alarm began to sound quite loudly.

"Shit, that's Deadeye," Jones said.

Without much delay the group had raced outside. Running to Deadeye's vehicle form, the doors flung open. From somewhere nearby, a jet engine could be heard, gradually increasing in volume.

Sam sat in the back seat, with Jones next to him. Simmons was in the driver's seat while James was in the passenger seat, opening the glove compartment and removing his Magnum .44 revolver from within. From further down the street the jet in question had begun to swoop in low, catching the attention of pedestrians. A jet flying in between buildings in Las Vegas was not a common sight.

Deadeye's voice, complete with British twang, sounded in through the speakers on the dashboard:

"_It's Starscream. He knows we're here."_

"Then start driving," Simmons ordered but he barely had a chance to finish when the accelerator pedal floored itself, forcing the humans back in their seats as the car sped forward.

Starscream, complete with intricate Cybertronian tattoos etched across his form, opened fire by releasing a pair of missiles. Deadeye's vehicle mode skidded onto the street, sending pedestrians diving and running out of the way while oncoming traffic was forced to swerve aside. Sam glanced through the back window, watching as Starscream zoomed overhead, engines roaring. Both missiles trailed through the air, one of them slamming into the road to their left. It kicked up chunks of road and sent a blue sedan flying, trailing flames. People screamed and started to run as the other missile hit a curb ahead outside of a brightly lit cowboy-themed casino, destroying the neon lights and knocking aside several civilians.

"Jesus Christ!" Jones shouted, "Those civilians…"

"Damn it Jones, just shut the fuck up!" Sam snapped, silencing him.

Deadeye swerved around a corner, sending them all into a narrow alley. Starscream rolled around, preparing to come in for another pass. By now the street was full of abandoned cars and fleeing people but none of them were really Starscream's concern. Instead, he turned his forward-mounted chain gun in the general direction of the fleeing Autobot. The high-powered rounds tore through nearby buildings, shattering windows and blasting away brickwork but by the time Starscream was close the Autobot had disappeared into an alley. Starscream quickly unfolded himself from his jet mode, landing both feet on the roof of a nearby building by the alley, catching a glimpse of the fleeing Autobot with the humans. He started to run across the rooftops, striding across the gaps between buildings with ease.

Deadeye followed the winding alley before it opened onto another street. By now police cars were arriving, sirens wailing as they gave chase. Starscream came jumping off of the nearest building, landing in the street, determined to get the Autobot and capture Sam. Frightened civilians fled away from him as he started running in the wake of the Autobot, his right arm changing into weapon form. Civilian vehicles swerved by him, skidding and screeching. He pushed one aside as it went past, sending it flying into the front of a nearby restaurant, knocking over several fleeing pedestrians and smashing out the front of the eatery.

Deadeye turned into another alley, two police cars giving chase. His heart racing, Sam looked back at the cars. It seemed so trivial, to have the police chasing them when there were far bigger things to worry about. Starscream was having no trouble running after them, climbing onto the top of the nearest building and proceed to stride after them. He blasted one of the pursuing police cars with his arm cannon, sending the car flying backwards, its smouldering wreck coming to a crashing halt further back down the alley.

A hairpin left turn took the group into a car park. Immediately Deadeye aimed for the entrance into a multi-storey car park, hitting the entry ramp fast enough to make the four humans inside bounce violently in their seats. Sam felt sick again but started taking some deep breaths, trying to ease the nausea.

The police car hot on their tail followed them into the multi-storey car park. The speakers on top blared the voice of a stern and understandably pissed-off policeman:

"_Give up! You have nowhere to go!"_

James sighed and with the press of a button brought down his side's window. With the Magnum revolver in hand he jutted out of the vehicle, taking aim at the police car. At first Sam thought he was going to shoot at the police officers, only for James to shift his aim lower and fire at the front tires of the pursuing car. The way Deadeye kept swerving between pillars and down further ramps made getting a clear shot all that much harder, with four of six shots missing. Finally one bullet burst a front tire on the car, sending it veering off course and ploughing into a nearby wall.

Deadeye slowed down once the police car was out of commission, easing out of a lower exit and onto a quiet street. Starscream was nowhere to be seen, having lost track of them upon their entrance into the underground car park.

Sam sat back in his seat, able to relax. Jones breathed a sigh of relief while Simmons slapped the steering wheel in obvious excitement.

"Yeah! Now that's what I'm talking about! Better than the car chase in _Bullitt!_"

James brought himself fully back into the vehicle, sitting himself in the passenger seat and taking the time to reload his revolver.

"I wouldn't get too pleased," James said, "I bet that Starscream asshole's still around."


	17. Setting the Stakes

**Setting the Stakes  
**Las Vegas, Nevada  
December 17th, 2010

Seated within Optimus' vehicle form, Major William Lennox and Master Sergeant Epps were quiet as the force of Autobots and NEST soldiers moved into Las Vegas. Behind them were the other Autobots, all in vehicle modes, followed by several military SUVs. Pedestrians looked on with curiosity, trying to work out why such a large military force was moving into the city. Las Vegas was not the kind of city that often saw much in the way of military action, being more of a tourist spot than anything else.

In one hand Lennox held a thermal-imaging device, the sort linked to the satellites that now watched over the city from orbit. In a city like this it was nigh on impossible to get a solid reading, with the thermal readouts of hundreds of civilians getting in the way. Some of the NEST vehicles had already started cordoning off streets, sending civilians out of the area. The cover story was a bomb threat although such a cover story would not hold up terribly well if a large scale firefight began. Lennox thumbed the thermal imaging device, shifting its view to another section of the city. One large, orange and red blob was moving quickly away from them. Lennox put a finger to the headset he wore, chiming in over the radios that all the NEST personnel were wearing.

"We have a possible bogey about two klicks north, grid reference four-seven-five-four-six-nine and moving away from us fast. Remember: do not engage target until streets are clear of civilians. Autobots are to remain in vehicle mode until civilians have been moved off of the streets."

What was obviously a Decepticon had showed up on the thermal scanner as a large, shifting blob with the vague shape of a tank. Around it, civilians were scattering and running. If Lennox was not mistaken, it seemed to be attacking them with a flamethrower. It seemed that the chaos had already begun, something that would make the incident even harder to cover up. Every NEST operation like this had always ended up exposing the Autobots to civilian eyes, something which the Secretary of Defence did not link but which was unavoidable. If they were to protect innocent civilians then it seemed reasonable for the Autobots to change into robot modes to better fight.

"Any idea who that guy is?" Epps asked from the passenger seat, nodding towards the tank that had shown up on the thermal scanner.

"It could be another standard Deception soldier, just with a tank as an alternate form," Lennox suggested, "Other than that, I haven't got a clue. Why he favours a flamethrower over a cannon is anyone's guess…"

_"That Decepticon would have to be Prometheus,"_ Optimus said, his voice filtering through the speakers within the semi's cabin, _"One of Centurion's favourite henchmen. He's…unstable."_

"Prometheus?" Lennox frowned. Where had he heard that name before?

"Bringer of fire," Epps said, "It seems some of these Decepticons like giving themselves fancy names."

Behind them, further back down the street a roadblock had been set up. NEST soldiers were guiding traffic out of the area, warning of a bomb threat. Naturally, plenty of people were complaining. Most were tourists, trying to work out why their night out on the town was being disrupted by a bunch of military personnel. This was Las Vegas after all, a city that was supposed to come alive during the night. It would be coming alive tonight, just not in the way people were thinking.

Around them were assorted casinos and restaurants, most were bright flashing arrays of lights with complicated setups. Some comprised large images, certainly able to catch the eye of any passer-by. People filled the streets, far more than had been in any previous urban operation NEST had undertaken. They were being herded out of the area by soldiers now, some being sent indoors while others were being taken out of the cordoned-off perimeter completely. If a firefight did start out here Lennox could easily imagine the massive amounts of collateral damage that would be caused. He checked the thermal imaging device again, finding that the Decepticon tank had stopped on the side of a street, frightening off any nearby civilians with blasts from its flamethrower. Optimus pulled to a halt at an intersection, caught up in what appeared to be a lot of traffic. He honked his horn but no one moved. On the sidewalks, people were being herded away by NEST soldiers. Further down the strip another roadblock was being set up.

"Great," Epps stated flatly, "Traffic. How the hell are we going to get past now?"

Lennox looked around, shaking his head. The trouble with working in a city like Las Vegas was that there was bound to be heavy traffic and plenty of pedestrians. Covering up NEST's activities here would be quite difficult.

Above, a pair of helicopters buzzed overhead, zooming over the buildings and disappearing around a corner. Lennox checked the thermal imaging device again, finding evidence of a few more Decepticons in varying vehicle modes scattering throughout the city up ahead. Most seemed the standard soldier variety, taking the forms of military SUVs and armoured vehicles. They were taking up positions throughout the city, probably in preparation for a large scale attack. And here was Optimus and the other Autobots, stuck in traffic. If Breakaway were around they could have used his help: he could be flying up high providing reconnaissance. Instead, he had gone rogue and had almost killed Ratchet earlier today.

At that moment Captain Graham Winters appeared alongside the truck, knocking on the window to get Lennox's attention. Lennox, his train of though broken, brought down the driver's side window and looked down at the Captain.

"Captain, what is it?"

"You're never going to believe this," Graham said, "But we just received a call from some bloke named Simmons. Says he has Sam Witwicky with him, as well as a couple of other guys who know about the Autobots."

"Did he say where he is?" Lennox asked. He recognized the name Simmons as the ex-Sector Seven agent who had been surprisingly helpful during the battle in Egypt two years ago. From what he had heard, Simmons was living in a nice house somewhere and getting paid a fat government pension.

"That's the thing, Major," Graham said, "He says he's right here in Las Vegas. Apparently they're further north in the city, at a restaurant. He said that something's happening to Sam Witwicky but he didn't provide any details. He did say that the Decepticons are after Sam, so it may be in our best interest to get him first."

Lennox nodded. Sam Witwicky had obviously gotten dragged into the whole mess, as had happened before. He checked the thermal imaging device once more, counting about five Decepticons scattered throughout the city up ahead. He shook his head: it made sense that Sam and Simmons were well beyond the enemy forces, meaning that the NEST forces would have to fight their way past. Ahead, the traffic was being sent off of the street by NEST soldiers. Some of them were setting up another roadblock, complete with a mounted gun. Civilians were being sent on their way just not without complaints.

"He gave us the address," Graham said, handing Lennox a piece of paper. Lennox took a look at the scrawl across it, finding that the address was to a steakhouse and bar much further ahead, past some of the Decepticons that had since positioned themselves strategically throughout the city. They were expecting NEST and the Autobots to arrive and they were expecting a fight. Lennox realized that it would be impossible to avoid one.

"We're going to have to keep moving," Lennox said, "What we need is a rear guard here, to prevent any of the Decepticons from coming from behind. Tell Firestar, Smokescreen Chromia the Twins and Jolt they'll be staying here. Optimus, Ratchet and Sideswipe will be coming with Epps and me. Graham, you're in charge back here. Make sure you keep the Decepticons off of our backs."

"Got it," Graham replied, "How many of our boys do you want to go with you?"

"I think three Autobots is enough," Lennox said, "The troops can stay here and make sure all civilians are off of the streets. That way we'll hopefully minimize collateral damage."

Graham nodded.

"Once we have Sam, we're going to come straight back here," Lennox said, "Make sure you hold the line. I don't want to get back here and find we've been left behind."

"You can count on me, Major," Graham said.

Lennox looked ahead. The traffic was mostly gone, being sent on detours that would take civilian traffic out of the cordoned-off area. He spoke into his headset, letting the Autobots know of the plan:

"Optimus, Ratchet and Sideswipe: we're going to get Sam. Everyone else is staying behind. Make sure you're here when we come back." Lennox looked to Epps as he said this, noticing the other man's doubtful expression.

"That's _if_ we come back," Epps said.

"No use being so negative," Lennox replied. He was about to let Optimus know they could get moving when a soldier's voice chimed in through his headset.

"_Major Lennox, we're just receiving word that Starscream has engaged pursuit of a red saloon car. Civilian casualties are minimal but I think he may have found Sam."_

"Sounds like we better get moving," Epps suggested. Lennox nodded, tapping the steering wheel and letting Optimus know they could get going.

"Good luck, Major," Graham said, seconds before the semi-trailer's accelerator floored itself.

Lennox took the grenade launcher he had resting on the floor near his feet, picking it up and flicking open the revolving chambers of the weapon. He began to load it as they sped along the Vegas strip, followed by the vehicle modes of Ratchet and Sideswipe. Epps was checking his rifle, loading a fresh magazine into the base. They both knew too well how ineffective a standard M4 rifle was against a Decepticon but it was better than nothing.

Lennox put aside the now fully loaded grenade launcher, taking the chance to view the thermal imaging device once more. Two of the Decepticon targets were heading for the rear guard further behind them, where the other Autobots would be holding off the enemy force. Ahead, Prometheus was waiting on a street corner, ready to strike at the earliest opportunity. As they closed in on Prometheus' position the Decepticon started to move. This section of street was close to deserted, save for the few brave people who had decided to try and film what was happening with camera phones and similar items. Lennox saw this and shook his head, realizing that it would make the whole business of covering up what happened even more difficult.

There was another Decepticon further up the street, having taken the form of a military SUV. This one appeared from around a corner, skidding to a halt in the path of Optimus, Ratchet and Sideswipe. There were still civilians running around, mostly scared out of their wits. Cars had been abandoned on the street, leaving obstacles. The Decepticon up ahead quickly unfolded himself from his vehicle mode, appearing as a seemingly ordinary Decepticon soldier, grey and black in colour and about as tall as any one of the Autobots. One of the Decepticon's arms transformed into a large chain-gun and he levelled it in the direction of the oncoming Autobots. Prometheus, still in tank form, was trundling from around a nearby corner. His tank turret started to rotate in the general direction of Optimus as the Autobots came speeding along the Vegas strip.

"Optimus, get me a clear shot at the big guy," Lennox said, hefting his grenade launcher.

"_Certainly, Major."_

With that, Optimus skidded to one side, the smell of burning rubber reaching Lennox's nostrils. Lennox took aim out of the window as Optimus turned side-on to the Decepticon soldier up ahead, his heart thumping wildly in his chest as he levelled the grenade launcher. Ratchet and Sideswipe skidded in opposite directions, with Sideswipe going straight for Prometheus. Lennox squeezed the trigger on the grenade launcher, feeling in buckle in his grip slightly as it fired. The grenade trailed through the air and slammed into the Decepticon soldier's front, making him stumble slightly. As Optimus came to rest Lennox fired again, the next shot blasting the Decepticon soldier in the gun wielding arm. The Decepticon yelled in both pain and rage, trying to level his cannon but barely getting a chance as Lennox fired again.

Prometheus, in tank form, fired his main cannon. The shell slammed into the front of the casino across the street, blowing out a large array of flashing lights and sending smoke and flame billowing outwards. Debris rained down onto the street and the ground shook slightly. Lennox's aim was thrown by the proximity of the blast, giving the other Decepticon soldier a chance to open fire.

High powered rounds pounded into the side of Optimus' vehicle mode. Immediately Optimus floored the accelerator, turning the vehicle head-on with the Decepticon. Both doors shot open and Lennox and Epps took this as their cue to bail out, both men landing on the road hard and rolling a short distance moments before Optimus changed into robot form. He was mere metres from the Decepticon at this point, bringing one arm up and in one fluid motion had turned it into one of his signature swords, shoving it straight through the Decepticon's chest and pulling it up. The Decepticon's cries of pain were abruptly cut-off as the blade cleaved through his neck and head, splitting him upwards from the chest. As energon and molten metal oozed out Optimus simply pushed the dead Decepticon aside, turning his attention to Prometheus. Sideswipe had both swords out, wheeling towards Prometheus at an incredible rate. Prometheus remained in tank form, levelling his main cannon towards the Autobot and firing. The shot hit Sideswipe square in the chest, sending him flying backwards and into the front of a nearby building. The whole front of the structure collapsed around him, burying Sideswipe under rubble. He was understandable dazed, with a hole blasted in his chest and was out of commission for a few moments.

Optimus had taken the chance to get close to Prometheus as sideswipe went down, bringing out both swords as Prometheus changed into robot form. He was a little shorter than Optimus but made up for it in sheer confidence and firepower, turning both his arm-mounted flamethrowers onto the Prime whilst laughing maniacally.

Optimus stumbled into the path of the searing hot flames, backing away as they burned at his armour. Prometheus stepped forward, not once letting up with the flaming assault.

Lennox and Epps, both slightly dazed from their jump out of a moving vehicle, were now rising to their feet. They watched as Ratchet raced past, now in full robot mode and with both arm cannons raised. Both launched high-powered explosives, both of which stuck to Prometheus' side. The Decepticon had only a moment to react, emitting a surprised grunt as they exploded upon him, sending him flying backwards and knocking over several streetlights and a newspaper stand. Prometheus came to rest on the road with two large holes blasted in his side that bled blue-white energon. He slowly began to rise to his feet but Ratchet was on him in seconds. The Autobot medic brought out both of his spinning blades, getting in striking range of Prometheus less than a second after the Decepticon had gotten back up. Prometheus weakly deflected Ratchet's first strike, leaving himself open for a quick follow up. One of the spinning blades cut off Prometheus' left arm just after the elbow while the other was stuck into his chest, spinning and spraying energon into Ratchet's face. Prometheus yelled and pushed away from Ratchet, the blade in his chest coming out and leaving a nasty gash down his middle.

Up above, two NEST helicopters, undoubtedly the ones Lennox had sighted earlier, flew into view. The gunners on both proceeded to open fire on Prometheus, the high powered rounds slamming into his armoured frame, some of the roads pounding into him. Prometheus stumbled, beginning to back away as the onslaught became a bit too much. Lennox and Epps both raised their weapons and began to open fire, with Lennox nailing Prometheus with two grenades into the chest. Prometheus, knowing when he was outmatched, turned around and began to run away. As he ran he looked behind at his attackers, the shoulder-mounted missile launcher on his left shoulder swivelling to match the movements of his head. He launched a pair of missiles up at the helicopters, with one missing by only a few feet while the other slammed into the side of one of the helicopters. It exploded into a massive fireball, raining debris upon the street while the other helicopter proceeded to pull back.

Prometheus disappeared into an alley. Ratchet proceeded to give chase but Optimus pulled him back.

"He'll probably lead you into an ambush," Optimus stated simply, "Leave him. Hopefully Prometheus has learned his lesson."

Ratchet nodded. He put away his weapons, turning around and heading for where Sideswipe lay buried in the rubble. He helped his fellow Autobot up and back onto his feet. Sideswipe, his ego once again harmed, simply shook his head as he proceeded to brush himself down of the dust and debris that had caught on him.

Lennox and Epps approached the trio. Such a successful fight did indicate that the Autobots were still a force to be reckoned with, even if they had taken losses in the past few days.

"We could have finished off the bastard," Epps said, sounding a little disappointed.

"He would have lead us straight to Centurion," Optimus said, "Running into Centurion again would probably be unwise. We need a coordinated plan if we are to take him down. So far we haven't so much as worked out a way to bring down his personal shield."

"Our main objective is to find Sam Witwicky," Lennox said, "And judging by what's going on now it looks like the Decepticons have already beaten us to him. Chances are he's still on the run, we just have to find him before they do."

Lennox looked around, taking note of the people gawking from windows and emerging from buildings on both sides of the street. Most seemed quite fascinated with the three Autobots who were standing on the street.

"We're gaining quite a crowd," Ratchet said, taking a look at the gathering groups of civilians.

"Should we go?" Sideswipe asked, "I'm itching to thrash some more Decepticons."

"You shouldn't be so reckless, Sideswipe," Ratchet replied, looking towards the fellow Autobot, "You were the one who just got thrashed. I'd suggest you be more careful next time."

"I wasn't thrashed!" Sideswipe shook his head. "I was just warming up. If I ever encounter that pile of scrap metal Prometheus again, I'll cut him in half."

Some of the civilians had started taking pictures and filming with assorted types of cameras, most of them of the mobile phone variety. Lennox would not be surprised if some were using the internet capabilities of those phones to put the videos on Youtube.

"Alright you three, we should get going," Lennox said, "We're gaining enough attention as it is."

All three Autobots reverted to their vehicle forms, with Optimus opening both doors of his semi-trailer form to allow Lennox and Epps entry. Most of the civilians were surprised to see the three robots transform, giving them all the more reason to keep filming and taking pictures.

The trio of Autobots began to move again, travelling along the road as they headed for the address Simmons had given over the phone earlier. Up above, Lennox spotted what was undoubtedly a news helicopter, complete with glaring searchlight which struck the front of Optimus' vehicle mode and almost blinded the two occupants of the vehicle.

"Media vultures," Lennox muttered, looking up at the helicopter. Thankfully, one of the NEST helicopters hovered up alongside it and using megaphones there was a brief exchange before the media helicopter turned around and left. The NEST helicopter followed after it, probably in order to detain the camera crew within once they landed.

Arriving at the restaurant specified by Simmons the group found the place deserted. Evidence of a battle wracked the street nearby while looters had already taken advantage of the chaos, smashing windows and running out of shopfronts carting off stolen goods. Lennox and Epps checked the inside of the restaurant, finding a plasma television blaring a Las Vegas city news report and an old man sitting at the bar drinking beer. He cast a wary eye in the direction of both of the weapon wielding soldiers before returning to his drinking, barely interested in the presence of the soldiers as if they were a common sight to him.

"Hey, you!" Lennox called across the restaurant area, catching the attention of the old man. Epps seemed to frown, looking at Lennox with some doubt.

"Leave the old timer alone, Lennox," Epps said, "We shouldn't get him involved."

The old man was looking at Lennox now, unsure of what to think of the grenade launcher wielding soldier.

"Have you seen a young guy, about twenty with short-cropped hair who might have been with an older dark-haired guy?" Lennox asked. He was thinking the old man wouldn't know much but it was worth a try. Obviously Sam and Simmons and whoever else they were with had left in a hurry, probably because of whatever had happened outside.

"They were here about twenty minutes ago," the old man replied, "but they left in a hurry, along with a couple of their friends. Then all that crap started happening outside, with all the explosions and shouting…I don't know where the people you're looking for went, though."

"Thanks," Lennox said, although he did not really mean it. He and Epps turned around and left the building, stepping outside and taking note of the gradually increasing amounts of chaos that had erupted around them. Looters were already hard at work on the nearby shops. A woman held a bleeding and motionless child in her arms nearby, crying. One civilian hobbled around with a bleeding gash in his side and another, older man was being carried away on a stretcher and towards an ambulance, one of his legs having been blown off just below the knee.

"We gotta stop this," Epps said as he saw what was happening around them in the wake of a Decepticon attack, "Too many innocent people are going to get hurt."

"Stop what? Fighting the Decepticons?" Lennox shook his head. "You know we can't do that."

The pair climbed back into Optimus' vehicle form which was parked just outside the restaurant. Nearby, a police car pulled to a halt near a broken shopfront window and the two police officers within emerged from the vehicle, charging into the shopfront and knocking down one of the looters inside.

It seemed logical to follow in the wake of the destruction on the street. The three Autobots and two humans with them followed the trail into a nearby alley where it ended, save for the evidence of something heavy having clambered up onto the roof of a nearby building. If Starscream had been chasing Sam Witwicky then it appeared that the chase had gone through the alley and into the next street where more destruction had occurred. The trail itself ended at another alley, although Lennox was quick to take up the thermal imaging device again and check the surrounding area.

Starscream was nearby, zooming up high in jet form in an obvious effort to locate Sam. Another Decepticon was nearby, one that was in tank form…

"Prometheus," Lennox said as he saw this. He looked up, glancing at Epps. "Starscream's on patrol and Prometheus is making his way along a nearby street…"

At that moment the display on the thermal imaging device fizzled, as if the signal was being met with interference. Lennox slapped the device with one hand in frustration but it did little to help: within seconds the display had gone black, replaced with the words in red 'SIGNAL LOST'.

"I've lost the satellite feed," Lennox said, putting the device aside.

"What could have done that?" Epps asked.

"Maybe Centurion's nearby…"

_"Or it was Soundwave,"_ Optimus interjected.

"Soundwave?" Lennox had not heard the name before and was curious to find out.

_"Soundwave is the Decepticon's communications expert. I wouldn't be surprised if he is interfering with the satellite while it is in orbit."_

"Son of a bitch," Lennox said, frowning, "Now how are we going to find Sam? Optimus, what about your sensors? Are they getting anything?"

"_I'm getting much interference, as if Centurion is nearby. Otherwise, I can detect nothing save for Starscream and Prometheus. The interference has limited my scanning range."_

"This is just perfect," Epps said, shaking his head, "There's a whole bunch of Decepticons on the loose and we can't even find out where any of them are without exposing our position. You know, we really should have thought this plan through…"

Lennox put a finger to his headset radio, trying to reach Captain Winters. Whatever interference was around, it was garbling the transmission. He could not even hear Winters in the slightest, whose voice was buried under layers and layers of static. From what Lennox could hear, something was happening at the rearguard position. It seemed logical to conclude that the Decepticons were assaulting the position, but if this was the case then where was Centurion?

The tension was broken when Ratchet chimed in over the radio, almost startling Lennox who had begun to ponder over what to do next.

"_Optimus, I'm getting a weak reading," _Ratchet said, _"It's Autobot and it's not too far from here. It could be…"_

"Deadeye," Optimus finished, his tone somewhat edgy. There was a noticeable increase in his speed as he detected the Autobot reading himself. Lennox figured that this was the best course of action they could take and simply sat back in his seat, grenade launcher resting on his lap.


	18. Rearguard

**Rearguard  
**Las Vegas, Nevada  
December 17th, 2010

On any other occasion, Colonel Francis Weller might have enjoyed being in Las Vegas. He might have gone out of his way to cheerfully gamble in one of the many casinos, something which seemed obligatory when in a city like Las Vegas. Unfortunately, tonight (or today, as it was actually two o'clock in the morning) was a very different night to others he had had. In the last twenty-four hours he had been chased by a pissed off Decepticon, confronted a transforming Sam Witwicky and had watched a good friend of his get blown to smithereens (or, more precisely, into bloody bits). Sure, Captain Xander Farnell may have been a bit incompetent but he had always liked having the younger man around as someone who could help him when he really needed it. Now that he was gone Weller would need to replace him, something which should not have been difficult but he did not know very many viable replacements. Besides, he had far more pressing issues to attend to, such as the situation surrounding Sam Witwicky.

Weller had been thinking this over in the last hour or so, having had to make a hasty escape from the motel where the Witwicky boy had been staying. It was official: Sam Witwicky was turning into some sort of human-Cybertronian hybrid, a direct result of having the power of the Matrix of Leadership transferred to his body. Weller needed the Matrix to operate the Spear of Destiny and that meant he needed Sam. How he would do this he was still busy thinking about, especially after hearing direct confirmation that NEST forces were in Las Vegas and were presumably after Sam. He needed to get to Sam before NEST did and he needed the proper equipment and planning to do this successfully. He knew Sam's capabilities now, complete with transforming arm cannon and bulletproof properties. Regular bullets would not work on Sam Witwicky, something that did not really surprise Weller now that he thought about it. Just how many Cybertronians went down from getting shot at? Not many. They always required something more, something a bit more powerful…

Weller had been in a restricted corner of the Las Vegas International Airport for the last half hour, waiting for the arrival of the backup he had called earlier. Most of that backup had arrived, with black SUVs and transport trucks pulling up nearby and unloading equipment and troops. A few helicopters had also landed, one of which had brought with it a fiery blonde-haired young woman with a bad temper. She was outfitted in bulky and experimental black Sector Eight armour, the type that was supposed to accelerate a person's motor skills. Her rank was Major and her name was Sarah Taylor. So far she was proving to grate on Weller's nerves, especially with her complaints about the new armour. All the Sector Eight troops were outfitted in it, some with more simplified versions. The technology had been reverse-engineered from Cybertronian tech, as had practically everything else that was advanced.

The night air was cold and the airport was brightly lit up. A 747 was touching down on the main runway and Weller stood watching from the restricted area of the airport with vague interest. He had a cigar sticking out from the corner of his mouth, its end letting off a faint trail of smoke as he puffed on it lightly. With one hand he removed it from his mouth, blowing smoke whilst shifting his gaze to Sarah who was standing nearby. She looked pissed off, something that did not surprise Weller in the slightest.

"This whole operation's fucked up," she stated bluntly, "And this armour, it's making me sweat like a fucking pig…"

"There is nothing fucked up about this operation, Major," Weller replied. He watched as a pair of Sector Eight commandoes unloaded a few heavy crates from one of the trucks. They rested the crate on the ground, opening it up and bringing out four pieces of a much larger weapon that Weller recognized to be a portable rail gun. A weapon like that had to be operated by two people: one to aim, fire and hold the weapon while the other loaded the heavy tungsten shells into the rear. It was much like a big rocket launcher, except it used no explosives of any kind. Instead, a target was destroyed by the sheer concussive force of impact. It was the same sort of weapon used to destroy Devastator during the battle in Egypt, albeit on a smaller but still quite powerful scale.

"As for the armour," Weller continued, returning his gaze to the Major, "It's for your own safety. Humans going against Cybertronians is a somewhat uneven fight, so the armour, with its accelerating capabilities, is going to help level the playing field a little."

"Uneven fight?" Sarah scoffed. "We have the superior firepower. Rail guns, coil rifles, rocket launchers…"

"Superior firepower doesn't always ensure victory," Weller said, "If that was the case, the Decepticons would have destroyed humanity already. Be thankful that hasn't happened."

Weller watched as one of the nearby helicopters took off, carrying with it a few armour-clad Sector Eight soldiers. It started into the city, its black paintjob and tinted windows making it almost impossible to see against the night sky. There were no lights currently switched on aboard the helicopter, further helping it blend into the night. Black helicopters, though a staple of many conspiracy theories, were certainly quite real.

"What exactly is the plan, Colonel?" Sarah asked, frowning. "I'm getting tired of waiting around."

"There ain't no use in rushing into a situation without a good plan," Weller said, "As I'm entrusting you to lead the main assault force, I need you to follow every order I give to the very letter. I've read up on you, about your reckless tendencies. I don't need any cowboy bullshit, not tonight."

"Cowboy? For starters, Colonel, I'm not a boy…In case you hadn't noticed."

"Don't be a smartass," Weller said. He stepped into the nearby guardhouse, finding the brightly lit interior considerably warmer than standing outside. Sarah followed as Weller walked over to the coffee machine in the corner, cigar in mouth while his hands worked the controls of the machine expertly. Technicians, soldiers and so forth were scattered about inside the building, operating terminals and speaking into headsets. Some saluted Weller as he walked by before returning to their assigned tasks.

There was a large table in the centre of the room with a map of the city spread out across it. Several locations had been marked, some of them by Weller. Sarah stepped over to the map, eyeing it carefully. Outside, the Sector Eight forces continued to ready themselves, with the other two of three helicopters heading off to patrol the skies over the city.

"Do you want a coffee, Major?" Weller asked from where he stood near the coffee machine. Sarah shook her head. Weller returned his attention to the coffee machine, filling up an insulated plastic cup with his choice of strong coffee. Turning away from the machine he approached the table, looking down at the map.

The motel where he had encountered Sam Witwicky had been marked, as had the known locations of NEST forces and Autobots. A restaurant, one that specialized in steaks, had also been marked as the last known location of Sam Witwicky. Ex-Sector Seven Agent Simmons' house had been circled: Sector Eight agents had already searched the house but had found no evidence of Simmons. They had found the whole hijacked archives of Sector Seven which Simmons had appropriately stolen when that organization had been disbanded, but otherwise the man himself had gone.

"Our main objective is to capture Samuel J. Witwicky," Weller said, "He's been imbued with the power of the Matrix of Leadership, a power we need to operate the Spear of Destiny and unlock the secrets of the ruins found in Venezuela."

Sarah raised a disbelieving eyebrow.

"That sounds like a crock of shit," she said with obvious disdain.

"Regardless, we need Sam. He's our main objective. Our secondary objective is to either capture or kill as many Cybertronians as possible. However we do this is up for you to decide in the field, Major, but I prefer live Cybertronians to dead ones. I'm especially interested in capturing the Autobot known as Deadeye, as he and I have a bit of catching up to do." He could remember all too well how Deadeye had escaped his clutches only a couple of days ago, although it felt like far longer.

"Other objectives include the apprehension of James Turner and John Simmons. If we can capture the Decepticon known as Centurion then all the better. However, this is not vital." Weller felt the start of another headache and screwed up his face. He had been told to leave Centurion alone…He should have remembered…

Sarah looked at him carefully.

"Something the matter, Colonel?" She asked.

"No, not really," Weller replied, shaking his head and clearing his thoughts. He tapped one marked section of the map, near the Vegas Strip. "That's where the NEST forces are the most concentrated. They've set up a cordon and have been evacuating civilians, but they haven't got everybody. So far, with the skirmishes that have occurred, anarchy's spread pretty much throughout the downtown area. The police are struggling to keep order, especially with all the rumours about giant robots on the rampage. Lootings becoming widespread and civilian casualties are increasing."

"So, there's pretty much complete chaos in the city?" Sarah asked.

"That's about right. It just goes to show just how much the Cybertronians are stuffing up human society by fighting their little feud on our planet." Weller tapped one marked part of the map, the motel where he had met Sam Witwicky. "That's where Sam Witwicky and I first met properly." He moved his finger to the marked restaurant in the downtown area. "And that's where he was last seen or heard from. The NEST forces in Las Vegas have set up a rearguard in the area I mentioned, although a few Autobots have gone ahead in an obvious effort to find Sam. They visited the restaurant but were obviously unable to find him."

"That means Sam Witwicky's still out there somewhere," Sarah stated. Weller nodded in response.

"Along with James Turner and John Simmons," Weller replied, "We have two forces to contend with in our search for Sam: the NEST and Autobot forces and the Decepticon troops who are also after Sam. Some Decepticons have already engaged the Autobot rearguard while others have taken pursuit of the few Autobots moving up ahead. We need a coordinated strike: we need to engage the NEST rearguard and neutralize the Autobots searching for Sam. With them down we should be able to find Sam without too much hassle."

"What do we do about the NEST soldiers?" Sarah asked.

"Our benefactors in the government are doing all they can to convince the President to shut NEST down," Weller explained, "Until they succeed, NEST is considered our enemy and are to be treated as such. We have been given full permission to do whatever it takes to complete our objectives, regardless of collateral damage. I think our benefactors would prefer it if we finish things tonight."

"Full permission?" Sarah's eyes seemed to light up. Weller could not help but smile when he saw this. Sarah was the type of soldier who enjoyed the action, most of all the killing. Whether or not she was mentally stable enough to be in Sector Eight was open for debate but at this point in time Weller cared little about it.

"That means lethal force is authorized," Weller answered, "However, I would prefer it if Sam Witwicky is taken alive. His…changes would be very beneficial to our bio-weapons research program. If we can take out the Decepticons and Autobots tonight then we have an easy ride ahead of us."

He paused for a moment, trying to think of anything he might have missed.

"Sarah, you're in charge of the main assault force that'll engage the NEST and Autobot rearguard position," Weller said, turning to face the young woman, "I will take the helicopters out to find Sam. Of course, if something goes wrong we'll regroup and change our plan accordingly."

Sarah nodded. Weller headed back outside, finishing off his cup of coffee before tossing it aside. There was one more helicopter waiting for him on a helipad up ahead. As he approached it the soldier manning the dorsal mounted gun saluted him. Weller took note of the grappling line launcher attached to the side of the gun: it was part of the whole "capture Cybertronians" section of the plan, one he was doubtful about. It would be far easier to kill them all but if one could be captured alive they may be able to learn much from it.

Weller climbed aboard the helicopter. Sarah saluted as the helicopter began to take off. Weller watched her as she started to organize the soldiers on the ground, taking up a grenade launcher while other soldiers began to collect some of the more advanced weaponry from crates unloaded from the trucks.

The pilot of the helicopter glanced over at Weller as they began to head into the city. Weller was checking his Ingram submachine gun as well as the lead-lined box containing the spearhead that was the Spear of Destiny. He tucked it under his seat before looking at the pilot.

"Where to first, sir?" The pilot asked.

"Take us in low and quietly," Weller said, "We're going straight after Sam Witwicky." 

* * *

The NEST rearguard was currently in the process of getting hammered by a trio of Decepticon soldiers, the three of which were proving to be quite a hassle. Captain Graham Winters, in charge of the NEST forces at the rearguard, was crouched behind a barricade as bullets and rockets were exchanged between the two sides. Debris littered the street and a few of the nearby buildings had taken damage, with the front of one casino completed obliterated. The Autobot Twins, Skids and Mudflap, were to the left side of the street, firing upon one of the Decepticon soldiers. Smokescreen was a short distance behind where Graham was taking cover, exchanging fire with the Decepticon soldier up ahead. Finally, Firestar and Chromia were to the right of the street, agilely dodging whatever the third Decepticon soldier threw at them. They were both small and nimble, far more so than the other Autobots. Jolt, on the other hand, had said he had been feeling "unwell" and so Graham had allowed him to leave for the regrouping point outside of the city.

Graham and the other NEST soldiers were currently pinned behind cover. As much as Graham would have preferred otherwise, the fight was not going anywhere. It was a stalemate but even so it was serving its purpose: while Optimus, Ratchet and Sideswipe were off looking for Sam, three of the Decepticons that could have been chasing them were tied up fighting the NEST rearguard. The whole purpose of the rearguard was to rope in as many Decepticons as possible in order to lessen the heat on Optimus and the others. Graham was beginning to wonder why he had even agreed to be part of the rearguard. It occurred to him that he had not agreed, rather he had been ordered to. He sighed and came up from behind cover at that moment, raising his M4 rifle and pulling the trigger. Tracer rounds zipped through the air and hammered the front of the Decepticon up ahead. The bullets did little but annoy the Decepticon which proceeded to turn its arm mounted chain-gun towards the barricade Graham was using as cover. High-powered rounds slammed into the front and top of the barricade, forcing Graham to crouch down again.

A NEST SUV pulled up nearby, the soldier manning the main gun turning it onto one of the Decepticons. The Decepticon in question let fly a rocket from a shoulder-mounted launcher, blowing away the SUV and sending it flying into the front of a nearby restaurant, smashing windows and knocking out light displays. Sparks and debris rained down upon the street.

Chromia and Firestar had closed the distance on the third Decepticon, literally running circles around it before the pair launched onto the Decepticon's bulky frame, plunging their swords into him and tearing off one of his arms. The Decepticon groaned and fell to his knees, only for Chromia to plunge her blade into the back of his head. It pierced the other side and took out one of his eyes. Pulling out the blade, Chromia and Firestar launched off of the now dead Decepticon, letting his body drop to the ground lifelessly. One of the other Decepticons had turned its attention to the smaller Autobots, opening fire with both arm-mounted chain-guns. Bullets pounded the road near Firestar and Chromia as they sped out of the way, launching themselves at the next Decepticon. This Decepticon was somewhat quicker than his now deceased friend, punching Firestar aside and sending her flying into the front of a nearby building. She smashed through and disappeared amongst falling debris. Chromia started back to the barricade, jumping over and taking cover close to where Graham was.

"I hope Firestar's okay," she said. Firestar was gradually getting herself back onto her feet (or wheels, to be more precise). The two remaining Decepticons were still pounding the NEST positions, with Smokescreen taking a rocket to the chest. The force of it exploding upon him knocked him to the ground, leaving him momentarily dazed.

Lying near the back of the smouldering and destroyed NEST SUV was an anti-tank rocket launcher, having fallen out of the back of the vehicle when it had been destroyed. Graham got up and ran for it, trying to ignore the high-powered rounds that slammed into the road near his feet and kicked up fragments of tarmac. He literally dived onto the fallen launcher, a rocket flying overhead and exploding near Skids who ws knocked clean over.

Graham took up the launcher, finding a discarded rocket in a fallen box nearby. One of the Decepticons had proceeded to climb up the side of a nearby building, scaling it easily as it forced its fingers through the brick and metal work. Graham brought up the launcher as the Decepticon climbed upon the roof, preparing to fire down on the NEST positions below. Peering through the launcher's sight, he achieved a lock-on and fired immediately. The rocket seared through the air and slammed into the Decepticon's front, knocking him clean off of the building. He landed in the street below with a loud _thump!_

As soon as he was down, Skids and Mudflap were charging for him. They hammered the fallen Decepticon with chain-gun fire, tearing him apart and finishing off the fallen foe. The last remaining Decepticon seemed to take a hint and began to retreat under the combined fire of the Autobots and NEST soldiers, not quite making it to cover as a skilled rocket from Smokescreen blew the Decepticon's head apart. The Decepticon soldier's lifeless body slumped onto the street, landing on a parked car and setting off its alarm.

For a moment there was silence, save for the high-pitched pinging of the car alarm. Graham dropped the anti-tank rocket launcher, taking a look around at the devastation. There were civilians further behind, watching with a mix of fear and awe. The Autobots seemed to relax noticeably, with Chromia sheathing both of her blades.  
"I wonder how Ratchet's doing," she said, more to herself than anyone else.

"Why? Do you like him?" Smokescreen asked, putting away his arm cannon.

Chromia shot him a mean look…at least, as much a mean look as a robot could give.

"Shut up Smokescreen," she said, annoyed.

"You're not denying it…"

"That's because she and Ratchet are like…" Skids began, but trailed off as he failed to come up with an appropriate analogy. Instead, he simply added: "They're like…real close, you know?"

"Yeah, real close," Mudflap said.

Graham ignored the bickering between the Autobots as he turned his attention to the devastated street up ahead. How on Earth would they cover this one up? A "gas leak" story just would not cut it. Especially since a lot of people were filming with camera phones nearby, having witnessed the whole battle.

"I think we're going to be pretty popular on YouTube," a nearby soldier said, half-jokingly.

"Like 'keyboard cat'," another soldier added, "Just without the keyboard and the cat…Instead, we have robots and explosions."

Graham took his M4 rifle from around his shoulder, loading a fresh magazine. He tried his headset radio but was met with a hiss of static, hinting at Centurion's proximity. He could not get in touch with Lennox and the others, inciting a pang of worry. They could be in serious trouble for all he knew.

"I think it's about time we moved out," Graham announced to the other soldiers, "There's no use in standing around here and waiting. Lennox and the others may need our help, there's just no way to be sure where they are. Communications are down…"

At that moment there was the sound of several vehicles screeching around a nearby corner. A convoy of about six black SUVs came into view, each coming to an abrupt stop near the barricade. Above, a black helicopter had suddenly come into view, switching on searchlights and casting them down onto the NEST soldiers and Autobots. The helicopter was as black as the night, its sleek paint designed to absorb light rather than reflect it…It could have been there the whole time and Graham would not have noticed. Its rotor blades were not especially loud either.

NEST soldiers and Autobots alike were confused as they gazed at the new arrivals. From the SUVs came numerous armed and armoured soldiers, all dressed in the same bulky black armour suits. Above, the helicopter had turned side on, revealing the armoured soldier manning a dorsal gun. From the helicopter came a man's voice, being amplified by speakers on the other side of the helicopter.

"_Attention all NEST soldiers and Autobots,"_ the voice announced, _"This operation is now under the control of Sector Eight…"_

"Sector Eight?" Graham frowned. He had heard that name before, from the captured commando they had gotten hold of in Vienna a couple of days before. He felt a sudden knot in his gut as he realized what was happening.

"_All NEST soldiers are advised to leave and report back to their regrouping point. All Autobots, however, are now the property of Sector Eight."_

"Property?" Chromia said, surprise crossing her metallic features.

"I ain't no property!" Mudflap shouted, annoyed.

Graham turned to Chromia.

"You have to leave," he said. Chromia seemed confused but the true nature of what was happening quickly settled in. "Take the others and get out of the city." Graham himself was somewhat unsure as to what he would do, but he was determined to ensure that Sector Eight would not get what they wanted.  
Chromia looked at the other Autobots, including Firestar who had limped back over to the group. Using a wireless link, she let the others know of their necessity to leave. And slowly they began to start down the street, with Smokescreen managing one last look at the Sector Eight forces…

Suddenly the main gun on the Sector Eight black helicopter fired, sending a grappling line that speared Smokescreen in the front. He grabbed at it in surprise but already the helicopter had begun to fly circles around him, wrapping him up in a high tensile steel line. He fell to the ground, arms and legs bound together. Immediately Chromia was by his side, bringing out one blade in order to cut through the rope.

Two of the Sector Eight soldiers carried with them a large rocket-launcher style weapon, albeit of a noticeably different look. One of them mounted it on his shoulder while the other loaded a large metal shell into the back of the weapon before tapping the wielder on the other shoulder. The weapon fired, sounding off with a loud metallic _shing!_ A light blue vapour trail appeared in the wake of the supersonic round as it hit Chromia in the arm, tearing it clean off before going straight through. She shouted in pain and collapsed on the ground, momentarily dazed. Smokescreen still struggled against the steel cable wrapped around him but he was utterly defenceless.

Graham turned to face the numerous Sector Eight soldiers. Raising his rifle, he fired on the pair wielding the portable rail gun. As much as their armour provided protection, sustained fire brought the pair down with sparks flying. They collapsed and dropped the rail gun but their deaths incited the rest of the heavily armed force to open fire.

"Fall back!" Graham ordered. The other soldiers began to fall back down the street as the Sector Eight soldiers opened fire, bullets and high velocity slugs zipping through the air. Graham watched as two of the soldiers nearest to him were cut down in a hail of bullets.

Chromia was back on her feet, using her one arm's blade to cut through the wire binding Smokescreen. Freeing him, she helped him up before picking up her fallen arm. The Autobots transformed and began to speed back down the street, away from the Sector Eight forces. The helicopter up above immediately took pursuit.

Graham stopped behind a parked car, watching as the other soldiers were cut down as they fled. A high velocity coil rifle slug took the head off of a soldier that ran past, his headless body landing only a few feet from where Graham was hiding. It annoyed him to think that Sector Eight, a rogue human organization, was killing members of its own race when there was a common enemy: the Decepticons. It seemed like such a useless waste.

Taking careful aim, Graham shifted his attention to the helicopter up above. Opening fire with his rifle, he shot the soldier manning the mounted gun straight through the head. His body fell out of the helicopter and fell to the street, landing with a sickening _thud!_ The helicopter continued on, keeping pursuit of the fleeing Autobots.

Some Sector Eight soldiers continued up the street while others were climbing back into their vehicles and starting in pursuit of the Autobots. Graham cautiously backed into the nearest building, entering the brightly illuminated lobby of a casino. Outside a few of the Sector Eight soldiers spotted him entering the building and so followed him inside.  
Graham turned around and began to run, knowing full well that he was outnumbered and outgunned. The Sector Eight soldiers following him picked up their pace as well, barging into the mostly deserted casino. It was mostly deserted due to the lack of patrons although the bartender, at the bar in the main casino area, was taking advantage of the lack of security by helping himself to free drinks. He was understandably surprised when Graham raced in, knocking a blackjack table as he went.

"The back door…where is it?" Graham asked the bartender, stopping to catch his breath.

The bartender nodded towards a grey door at the far side of the room, beyond rows of slot machines. Behind Graham, at the entrance to the gambling area, four Sector Eight soldiers had appeared. They saw him and opened fire in his direction. Graham dived behind a blackjack table, knocking it over as bullets tore the carpet and nearby tables to shreds. The bartender dived behind the bar as bullets slammed into the bottles and glasses on the shelves behind him, shattering them and spraying assorted drinks everywhere. Graham returned fire, taking down one of the Sector Eight soldiers while the other three scattered.

His weapon's magazine hitting on empty, Graham hurriedly got up and began to reload while running for the back exit door. Behind him his pursuers resumed fire, the slot machines ahead of Graham exploding in a shower of plastic shards and sparks. They began to sound the winning bell sound, with golden coins spewing out and spilling across the floor. Graham hit the exit door at a breakneck pace, slamming a fresh magazine home into his M4 rifle. He turned around and returned fire, taking down another of the Sector Eight soldiers while tearing apart several slot machines. The noise of winning bells and falling coins filled his ears, as did the sound of weapons fire as the remaining two soldiers pounded his position with bullets.

Graham turned around and jumped through the door behind him, ending up in a maintenance tunnel. He looked both ways and quickly decided to head left, running down the corridor and barging through another door. Behind him he could hear the Sector Eight soldiers closing in. He wondered why they were so intent on chasing him, thinking that maybe they were doing it more out of revenge for him killing their buddies than anything else.

Behind this next door was a kitchen. Pots and pans hung around the place while a rack of knives sat nearby. Graham jumped over the bench in the centre as the two Sector Eight troopers barged into the kitchen, both opening fire with their rifles. Bullets pounded into the wall and shot into pots and pans, with loud clangs sounding throughout the kitchen. Graham swivelled around and opened fire, a bullet hitting one of the armour clad soldiers in the eye slit of his bulky armour. A spray of blood followed and the soldier slumped onto the floor, his brains splattered against the wall behind him. Graham swept the fire along towards the last Sector Eight soldier but his magazine clicked on empty once more. Full automatic fire, though effective, chewed through ammunition quite quickly. Graham went to reach for another magazine but found, much to his horror, that he had no more.

Tossing the rifle aside he pulled free his sidearm. The Sector Eight soldier, seeing this, went to open fire but the magazine of his P90 submachine gun had depleted. He dived behind the bench in the middle of the kitchen as Graham started firing, bullets pinging off of the metal of the bench. The Sector Eight soldier hurriedly tried to reload as Graham began to race around the side of the bench to get a better shot. Instead, the Sector Eight commando dropped his submachine gun and lunged for the NEST soldier, tackling him to the floor. Graham's Beretta pistol went flying out of his grip and slid under a nearby oven, going far out of his reach.

The Sector Eight soldier seemed awfully strong, perhaps a result of the advanced technology in the armour suit. Graham struggled to push the soldier off of him, throwing a punch that connected with the soldier's helmeted face. The soldier barely noticed the blow while Graham's knuckles hurt profoundly.

Graham slipped out from underneath the Sector Eight trooper, quickly rising onto his feet. The knife rack was nearby and Graham reached for it but the Sector Eight trooper charged at him again, knocking him and the rack of knifes onto the floor. Knives of varying shapes and sizes landed around them. Graham grabbed for one as the Sector Eight soldier prepared to deliver a punch to the face. With one quick movement Graham had stuck the chef's knife through the armoured soldier's eye slit. The blade stuck and the soldier slumped off of Graham, dead.

Taking a few deep breaths, Graham slowly rose to his feet and looked over the mess created in the kitchen. Slowly but surely he made his way to the door at the other side of the room, pushing it open and stepping into the alleyway outside. With no Sector Eight soldiers in sight, he started to walk away. He was determined to see Sector Eight pay for what they had done tonight…he just had to find his way back to NEST forces without running into anymore armour-clad soldiers.


	19. Separation

**Separation  
**Las Vegas, Nevada  
December 17th, 2010

Seated in Deadeye's vehicle form within a multi-storey car park, Sam Witwicky was able to gather his displaced thoughts. Simmons sat in the driver's seat, fiddling with the radio on the dashboard while James Turner sat in the passenger seat. He held his Magnum revolver in one hand, watching their surroundings for any sign of Decepticons. Jones Marshall sat next to Sam in the back, trying his best to remain calm despite the fact that such an act would be very difficult. They had only just escaped Starscream and chances were he was waiting for them to exit the multi-storey car park before striking again. Either that or he had gone to get reinforcements. Neither possibility were very good for the group.

Sam could feel the almost viral transformation working its way across his body. The right side of his face had begun to throb painfully, especially his right eye as if it was being changed from the inside out. Putting his right Cybertronian hand to his face, he rubbed at it gently only for much of the skin there to rub off. He swallowed, surprised that he could still do such an act. It was finally beginning to take over his face, a thought that struck fear into him but at the same time made perfect sense. The transformation was not about to stop, not at his arm or his shoulder. It was going to change him completely.

He turned away from Jones and the others, rubbing at the hurting sections of his face and neck. He felt something shift underneath the skin and was quite unprepared when it ruptured, sending agonizing pain shooting through him. He groaned and went for the door handle, pushing open the door and stumbling out. The others watched him, unsure on what to do. James was the first to climb out of the car, racing for Sam's side but the younger man simply pushed him aside.

Sam stumbled against one of the pillars in the car park, scratching at his changing face. Skin peeled and plates underneath shifted. His right eye stung profoundly and impulsively he went to scratch it. Pain shot through his skull as the skin on the right side of his face came away, blood and energon fluid following after it. His right eye followed as well, seemingly useless because of what revealed itself underneath. Sickened and in agony, Sam slumped against the pillar and held his face in his hands. He could feel the changes spreading across his body, as well as a dull ache in his legs as things shifted and developed. He involuntarily screamed, partly in pain and partly in horror of what was happening to him. He did not want to see his face, not after what had happened. Putting his human left hand through his hair (although how long it would remain human remained to be seen: metallic blotches had already started forming upon it), Sam could feel much of his hair falling out. He felt along the right side of his face, tracing the metallic plates that had developed. The inside of his mouth was all but metallic now. He coughed, bringing up blood and his seemingly useless tonsils. Several of his teeth followed and he could already feel the metal Cybertronian equivalents growing in their places. Strange symbols darted across one half of his vision, complete with other weird readouts. James Turner was highlighted by one hexagonal, with readings in Cybertronian symbols darting out of it.

Carefully, Sam put his still human hand to his right eye. It did not feel like an eye anymore, rather it felt hard and did not seem to react much to his touching of it. Slowly, he rose to his feet as James walked over. The priest's eyes widened when he saw Sam's face.

"My God," he said simply. Simmons and Jones had climbed out of the car as well. Simmons saw Sam and frowned, looking a little disgusted. Jones went pale and looked to be on the verge of throwing up.

Sam stumbled over to one of the side mirrors on Deadeye's vehicle form, looking at his reflection. Though his whole body ached and he could feel things shifting and changing, he did still manage a gasp at what had happened to his face. The whole right half of his face and neck was taken up by the same Cybertronian-esque metal skin and plates. His nose had begun to bleed and seemingly change into something segmented and more metal. The right side of his head was taken up by a metal plate, his ear there having completely disappeared. The plate seemed to go a little above the top of his head, much like the "fins" Optimus Prime had on either side of his head. Sam's right eye had been replaced by a circular red optic, seemingly come complete with a heads-up display.

"It's red," he said simply, touching it again. He found out then that he could zoom in and out with it, something that both fascinated him and sickened him. Cybertronian symbols ran across his vision in places, highlighting things and taking readings. What surprised him was how he could understand everything they were telling him. Atmospheric readings, suggested courses of action…He had a feeling that if he did not gain control of it he would be sent crazy by the incessant readings.

He turned back to the others, fully aware of the way he looked. There was no way in hell he would be able to hide his changing appearance from the public now if he went out into the street. He looked at James who was suddenly highlighted by a now familiar hexagon, accompanied by lines of Cybertronian text: Turner, James. Age: 52. Threat Level: Minimal. Probability of success of termination: 87%. He looked at Simmons who received similar readings: Simmons, John Seymour. Age: 57. Threat Level: Minimal. Probability of success of termination: 92%. And just to satisfy his curiosity, Sam looked at Jones: Marshall, Jones. Age: 25. Threat Level: Negligible. Probability of success of termination: 99%.

Termination? Sam swallowed again, fully aware of what this meant. What was he…a terminator now a something? Now, it meant something else. All of these readings…he would need to learn how to control them how to get them to tell him the things he wanted to know. There was no doubt that his brain was turning Cybertronian as well, being directly linked to all of the readings he was getting. It must have been turning into some sort of semi-organic computer, something that may have sounded far-fetched at any other time but now not so much.

"Uh…guys, I'm getting some really weird things cropping up on my vision," Sam said, his voice sounding raspy, almost metallic.

"Your new eye…it's red." Jones seemed to consider this notion for a moment, looking quite frightened. "Don't those Decepticons have red eyes? And Autobots blue?"

"Are you telling me that Sammy-boy here is turning into a Decepticon?" Simmons asked, doubt crinkling his features, "That's a load of bull."

"I don't think so," Sam said, suddenly uncertain of himself. He started to back away from the others, afraid that with the transformation altering his mind it may incline him to try and kill these…

_…Pathetic insects._

He shook his head, aware of the thought that had cropped into his mind. It had not been a voluntary one either. This whole situation getting out of hand now, he knew that. He looked towards Deadeye's vehicle mode, hoping for some helpful advice from the Autobot.  
"Deadeye, what the hell's happening to me?" Sam asked, backing against the nearby pillar.

"I don't know, Sam. On my scanners you're coming up as an 'unknown life-form."

Unknown life-form…Sam was not anything then. He was a cross between a human and a Cybertronian, complete with conflicting minds. He looked towards the others, unsure of what to do.

"James, what do you think?" Sam asked, trying to lose the incessant readouts appearing across one half of his vision. Something must have clicked since they disappeared, with only to symbols running down one side of his vision remaining.

"I think we should get you to a doctor," James said. Simmons seemed to disagree, interjecting as soon as James had spoken.

"You mean a normal old-fashioned doctor?" Simmons asked, frowning, "Like in a hospital or clinic? Are you nuts? They'll lock him up in quarantine, run all sorts of tests on him. We have to get him to NEST. They'll know what to do."

James turned to Simmons, shaking his head.

"Bullshit," James stated, "It's better we quit delaying and get Sam some real help now. Who knows what kind of things are happening inside him? He could die."

"If we take him to a hospital we'll be exposing ourselves to the Decepticons."

"And if we don't we could lose him to the transformation."

Sam realized that the two were bordering on a full-blown argument. He was about to interrupt but Jones did it for him. Where before Jones had tried to keep quiet and had done about as much as shout a lot, now it seemed he was meaning to try and take control of himself and be helpful.

"Simmons, aren't those NEST guys supposed to be trying to find us?"

Jones asked.

"Yeah…"

"Then we try and meet up with them. Fuck the Decepticons outside. There ain't no way we're going to be able to avoid them but I think it's better to die trying to get past them than to stand here and argue all night." Jones glanced at his watch: it was about two thirty in the morning. "Or all day, since it's way past midnight. Besides, we got Deadeye on our side. I believe in him…he's my fucking car anyway. And who knows…maybe we'll get lucky?"

There was a brief silence between the members of the group. Sam could feel things shifting underneath the flesh on his right leg. He groaned as metal plates ruptured the flesh at his calf, spilling blood and energon which began to soak his pants.

"Guys…uh…I'm seeing all these symbols…" Sam began.

"Yeah, I figured that'd happen," Simmons said.

"Yeah…but the thing is, I can understand them all. And they're telling me to…uh…terminate you guys."

There was another silence. James cleared his throat while Jones shifted uneasily where he stood. Sam's new heads-up display scanned the group again, giving him the same readings as before including a few extensions, such as what kind of gun it was that James was holding (a Magnum revolver). At the back of Sam's mind something seemed to be working its way into dominance, a presence he knew he had to fight back. It was noticeably Decepticon in origin but it was something else entirely, along with that voice he had been hearing recently. The Decepticon presence spoke again…

_…Kill them. Kill all of them._

"No," Sam said quietly.

"What was that, Sam?" James asked, stepping forwards. Sam put up his Cybertronian right hand, signalling James to not come any closer.

"I'm hearing voices," Sam said. James seemed to get the idea and backed away a little.

"Voices? That can't be good," Simmons added. He looked towards Sam. "You have to fight them, Sam. It's the only way you're going to stop them. Fight them."

"What do you think I'm trying to do?" Sam did not realize he was raising his voice until he noticed the surprised looks on the faces of the three men standing ahead of him. Again, Sam could not help it but let out all of his pent-up emotions that had been building ever since he had started to transform. Why did it have to happen to him? Other times, where the fate of the world had rested on his shoulders, he could be confident that once it was all over he would be able to return to some sort of normal life. Now, with what was happening to him, his life would never be the same. Where his involvement with the Decepticon—Autobot war had turned his life "upside down" as the old cliché went, his new physical changes were going to turn it "inside out". His life was completely and utterly fucked up now and yet it still was not over. He had Decepticons chasing him and a strange but agonizing change sweeping his body, not to mention the increasingly Decepticon style thoughts he was beginning to have.

"I don't know how much longer I can take this shit," Sam said, tears beginning to well up in his left human eye. They stung more than usual, providing more evidence that the transformation was completely overtaking his human form. "I've had it with running. I'm going to go out and try killing some Decepticons. I've got the power to do that; I just need to learn how to control it…"

"We can't let them get hold of you," James said, stepping forwards, "With the power of the Matrix of Leadership on their side, they'll be able to carry out their plans…"

"What plans would those be?" Sam asked, knowing full well that they knew very little about the extent of the Decepticon scheme, "Destruction of humanity? So what? Maybe we deserve it. I paraphrase Arnold Schwarzenegger: 'It is in our nature to destroy ourselves.' What difference will it make if the Decepticons do it for us?"

With that, Sam turned around and started heading for the ramp that lead to the floors of the multi-storey car park below. James started pacing behind him while Simmons and Jones watched on, unsure about what they should do.

"Sam, where the hell are you going?" James asked, catching up to the younger man. He put a hand on Sam's shoulder, turning him around. He looked into Sam's hybrid appearance, with both human eye and Decepticon optic focusing on him. It was somewhat awkward to confront but James quashed his concerns and spoke anyway.

"We've come this far and I'm not about to let you storm off and get yourself captured or killed," James said, "We're going to see this thing through and we're going to get you help, alright? There's going to be none of this gung-ho bullshit."

Sam struggled free of James' powerful grip, shooting the priest a rather annoyed look.

"I'm really getting sick of your speeches," Sam said, the human side of his face creased with irritation. The Cybertronian half seemed to be having trouble forming any real expression as Sam could not quite move it in the right way, still learning how to control the intricacies of his changing form. "And it's not like I have to listen to you anyway. You're not my dad."

"So, you're just going to walk out there and get yourself killed?" James asked. Sam was about to reply but quickly realized that it was a rhetorical question and thus was not intended to receive an answer.

"I can't make you stay," James continued, "But I can't let you go on some suicidal venture. You're young, Sam. You still have a life to live."

"As what? A Decepticon?" Sam held pointed to the Cybertronian half of his face for emphasis before adding, in a sarcastic manner, "Yeah. That'll be fun."

"Like I keep saying, we'll get you help," James said.

"Help? I think I'm way beyond help."

James sighed.

"Are you always this pessimistic?" He asked. Sam shrugged.

"Are you always this persuasive?" Sam asked in return. They exchanged a slight smile, although Sam seemed unable to control his changed form enough to manage one that did not look so forced. He did bare his jagged metal teeth, something that struck James as being a bit unnerving.

James turned around and started back for Deadeye and the others with Sam following a little behind. Outside, the sounds of distant battle could be heard along with the sounds of screaming pedestrians and police car sirens. Columns of smoke wafted up from the skyline in the desert, signifying fires that had broken out across the city. James saw this and simply shook his head.

"The whole city's going into anarchy," he said.

"There's not much we can do about that," Simmons interjected, "What we can do is get going and hope there are no Decepticons waiting around…I'm really getting tired of being shot at."

Sam was the only one to notice the blue laser dot on James' back, moving about only very slightly. His Cybertronian heads-up display brought his attention to the large figure on the roof of a building some distance from the multi-storey car park, the bulky Decepticon wielding what was unmistakably a high-powered rifle complete with laser sight. Without thinking, Sam dived for James, knocking the priest onto the floor as the Decepticon fired its weapon. A high-powered energy blast shot through the air at staggering speeds, passing through the air where James had just been standing and shooting over Sam and James as they hit the floor, sending heat washing over them. The blast slammed into a pillar up ahead, blasting it to pieces and showering chunks of masonry over the group.

Sam rolled off of James, the pair immediately going low as they moved for Deadeye's vehicle mode. The Autobot opened all four of his doors, allowing the group to scramble inside as another blast slammed into the wall nearby. Once they were all in Deadeye shut the doors and floored the accelerator, swerving down a nearby ramp…

A military style Jeep drove in front of them at the base of the ramp, rapidly changing into Decepticon form. It was a typical Decepticon soldier, tall and mostly grey and black. Deadeye hit the brakes just before slamming into the Decepticon (who was crouching as the confined spaces of the multi-storey car park disallowed him from standing completely upright).

"Shit, shit, shit!" Jones was shouting, mostly involuntarily. Deadeye began to reverse back the way he had come just as the Decepticon opened fire with two chain-guns, bullets tearing up the walls and floors around the fleeing car and its occupants. A few rounds punctured the windows, one of them grazing the Cybertronian half of Sam Witwicky's face. He screamed, partly human and partly metallic groan as the high-powered round tore through the metal flesh at his face. Energon fluid sprayed out, some of which shot onto Jones' face. Jones saw Sam's injuries and started screaming.

Deadeye started onto the next floor of the multi-storey car park as the Decepticon behind them changed back into vehicle mode, entering in pursuit. Sam could barely concentrate, with pain burning the right side of his face and with Jones screaming. James was trying to be a hero again, winding down his side's window and taking aim behind them with his Magnum, intent on shooting at the pursuing Decepticon. The bulky Decepticon (whom Deadeye's sensors detected as Breakaway) was still firing on them from afar, with high-powered sniper shots slamming into the walls near them.

Deadeye swerved onto the top of the multi-storey car park. There was a section of wall missing up ahead, blocked by traffic cones and warning signs. Breakaway was on a nearby rooftop and upon seeing them jumped from that rooftop and onto the top of the multi-storey car park, landing a short distance from Deadeye. The other Decepticon was chasing behind them.

_"Breakaway?"_ Deadeye's voice filtered through the speakers within the car as he floored it past the ex-Autobot, _"But he's supposed to be on our side…"_

"Well, he ain't anymore so keep driving!" Simmons shouted. He, and the three other occupants of Deadeye's vehicle mode soon realized that the Autobot was intent on heading for the missing section of wall. Behind them, Breakaway was running after them with a rather determine look on his metallic features.

Sam put his Cybertronian hand to the Cybertronian half of his face, feeling the energon fluid oozing out along with trace amounts of human blood. He seemed alright other than the pain and he knew that if he had still been completely human he probably would be dead. Jones was still screaming while James was bracing himself for the inevitable. Simmons, on the other hand, seemed to be getting excited.

Deadeye drove straight through the traffic cones blocking the missing section of wall, going straight off of the edge of the multi-storey car park. The feeling of being airborne in a vehicle was a strange one, one that left Sam feeling like his gut had lurched up into his throat (not that it had). They travelled through the air, followed by the pursuing Decepticon Jeep. Seeing the office building they were closing in on up ahead, all four of them started to yell.

Time seemed to slow down as they slammed into a set of windows, all of which shattered around the vehicle. The sudden violent lurch they felt as they hit the floor of the office building sent them jolting about in their seats, leaving the four of them dazed. Even Deadeye seemed to have momentarily lost his concentration, swerving side-on to where he was going and letting momentum carry him. The pursuing Decepticon Jeep fell a floor short, smashing into the offices below. Deadeye ploughed through rows of empty office cubicles before finally coming to rest some distance from his point of entry. Assorted debris littered the floor while the sprinkler system went off, dousing everything within the devastated offices with water. Slowly the occupants regained their senses, the four of them stumbling out of the vehicle. Sam took in his surroundings, relieved to see no more evidence of pursuing Decepticons.

Whatever relief he felt was quickly quelled when he heard the sound of a few explosions far below, feeling them shake the building. Slowly, he walked to the large hole in the wall where Deadeye had crashed though. Looking down at the street below he could see the Decepticon from earlier along with the larger, winged one (Breakaway, as Deadeye had called him) blasting at the ground floor. It only took a few seconds for him to work out what they were doing, especially when one of them began to literally push the side of the building.

Sam turned to look at the others. James was holding his lower back, trying to work out some of the kinks. Simmons was trying to stem the bleeding from a cut on his forehead while Jones was stumbling around, still somewhat dizzy.

"Guys…We gotta get out of here," Sam announced, catching the group's attention. He nodded towards the two Decepticons at work on demolishing the lower floors. James came over and took a look for himself.

"They're going to take down the whole damn building," he said in realization before looking at Sam, "They must want you pretty badly."

"Oh, man…" Jones said from a short distance behind them, flexing the muscles in his arms, "I need a vacation."

Deadeye flung open his doors again, inviting the group back in.

"Where the hell are you going to drive us this time?" Jones asked, starting for the Autobot, "We're in a fucking office building."

"We'll drive out of the side," Deadeye replied.

"Oh…great."

Before any of the group could make it to the parked vehicle mode Autobot, the whole building shook violently. Debris began to roll and slide to one side, as if the building was beginning to tilt. Sam looked back outside, seeing that both Decepticons were pushing one side of the building, having taken out most of one half of the ground floor (and along with it, several foundations). It did not take long for the whole building to noticeably tilt, creaking on its foundations. As gravity got to work Sam found himself struggling to stand upright, as did the others. Deadeye must have had his handbrake on for he did not move, even as Sam fell over and began to roll towards the far wall. James grabbed onto a cubicle wall and held on, trying to regain his footing. Jones stumbled into a doorway, staying there and not daring to move. Simmons stumbled backwards and hit the office partition where James was trying to keep his grip.

Sam's feet hit the wall and there he stayed, even as the building began to completely tip over. Around him lights flickered and computer monitors sparked, backgrounded by the loud creaking as the building moved beyond its structural limits. What awaited the group was a sickening crunch, one that Sam braced himself for but even so it hurt when it happened. The entire office building, about twenty storeys in height, fell over.

Lights went out and the wind was knocked out of Sam. Things fell on him: computer monitors, a photocopier. The pain was enormous but his stronger and still changing physical form was able to absorb most of the blows. Even so, he did blackout. It lasted only briefly but when he opened his eyes he lay in darkness. All the lights were out and he had a photocopier pinning him down. With his Cybertronian arm he pushed it off of him, slowly rising to his feet in the mess. Computers, desks, chairs and other assorted office furniture was strewn everywhere. Below, he could feel the building creak and shift as it was technically lying on its side. No building was supposed to stay upright when lying on its side, something that was proven when the floor opened up near him (although the floor now had been a wall only minutes ago). He scrambled for grip as his legs fell into an increasingly large hole that opened up in the plaster of the wall. Below, he fell into more darkness, landing within a store-room.

His heart thumping in his chest, Sam tried to scramble back up through the hole. Below a parked car had been crushed by the weight of the falling building, as had several others that had been in an outdoor parking lot. Above, Sam could hear shouts: it was the others, having somehow survived.

"Sam! Sam, where are you?" It was the voice of Simmons and Sam could tell that he was close.

"I'm down here!" Sam shouted, his voice edged with a metallic sounding grind. He throat hurt as he spoke but he was not about to let that stop him from being found.

"I hear him," James said from somewhere close by, "I think he's…"

There was the sound of an explosion, one that shook the ground beneath Sam's feet. There was shouting from the others up above and the sound of running footsteps. Suddenly, a large metal hand reached down the hole. Deadeye, in full robot mode, was up above, keeping low so he could fit in the confines of the tipped building. His blue optics gazed down at Sam.

"Come on, Sam," Deadeye said. Sam grabbed hold of the Autobot's outstretched hand, allowing him to be lifted back up into the devastated office complex. Sam looked around the flickering darkness, trying to catch a glimpse of either James, Simmons or Jones. The trio had instead gone.

"Where did the others go?" Sam asked.

"I told them to leave and that I'd come get you," Deadeye said. Turning around, he walked straight to a nearby wall and simply walked straight through it, wood and plaster falling all over him. "The Decepticons are here looking for you so we have got to go."

Sam heard the explosions sounding from outside and decided he was best to follow Deadeye. Heading out into the cold night air, Sam emerged into a scene of chaos. Behind him was a completely tipped over building, falling apart at the seams. Ahead, the street was littered with debris while a fire raged in a coffee shop across the street. Several looters were making off with goods from nearby stores while frightened civilians ran about trying to seek shelter. Nearby, both Decepticons from earlier were surveying the devastation. Deadeye saw them and quickly reverted to his vehicle mode, flinging open his driver's side door.

"Get in," he said. Sam quickly climbed into the driver's seat, the door shutting near him. As soon as he was in, Deadeye hit the accelerator and started speeding down the street.

Sam was somewhat surprised that he had survived what had just happened. Then again, he had a habit of surviving things most people would not. He had even died once for his trouble. Now he was on the run again, except this time he had a physical transformation to contend with.

"What about James? Or Simmons? Or even Jones? We can't just leave them!" Sam said, getting his mind back on track. He managed a glance behind him, looking back down the street. No Decepticons seemed to be following them which was definitely a good sign.

"They'll be fine," Deadeye replied, "It's you the Decepticons are after. That's why I've got to get you as far away from them as possible."

* * *

Flying high above the streets in a sleek black helicopter, Colonel Francis Weller had been watching the fiasco on the streets below through a pair of binoculars. He had watched the Decepticons take down a whole office building in their search for Sam. And when he had seen Sam enter the vehicle mode of that Autobot Deadeye, Weller had become very interested in seeing where they went.

The Colonel lowered the binoculars and turned to the pilot, a look of smug satisfaction crossing his features.

"Call the other choppers and tell them that the primary objective is in sight," Weller said to the pilot, "We're going to see where our old friend Deadeye takes the Witwicky boy. And then we're going to apprehend him."


	20. Meeting Up

**Meeting Up  
**Las Vegas, Nevada  
December 17th, 2010

Things had gotten progressively worse in Las Vegas as the night went on. The Decepticons had been laying waste to parts of the city in their search for Sam and the NEST rearguard had been forced to retreat after an attack from an unknown force. At least, Major Lennox did not know what exactly had happened to the rearguard since communications were down and he, Master Sergeant Epps, Optimus Prime, Ratchet and Sideswipe were making their way through the city and were already far from the rearguard. Riots had already broken out in parts of the city and the local police were struggling to maintain order. Even now the group passed by a set of shopfronts busy being looted. Lennox and Epps watched what was happening with worried gazes, knowing full well that once this was all over they would be blamed for the outbreak of anarchy in the city. They and the Autobots to be more precise, although the Decepticons were somewhat guiltier. At least the Autobots tried to minimize collateral damage whereas the Decepticons were considerably more careless.

The mission had gone a bit awry and now the group were simply driving around trying to pick up any trace of Sam or Deadeye. According to Optimus, Deadeye was moving quickly out of the city and it was not long before the group arrived at a scene of utter destruction left in the wake of a battle. A whole office building had literally fallen over, part of some Decepticon effort to get a hold of Sam. The group stopped by the wrecked building and both Lennox and Epps climbed out of Optimus' vehicle form in order to take a closer look. The street itself was somewhat devastated, with some blast craters and damaged buildings. The Decepticons had obviously come through here although they were no longer around, presumably having gone to pursue Sam. They must have wanted him pretty badly, Lennox figured, since they were not prone to abandoning a perfectly good opportunity to have a go at some Autobots.

Lennox stepped over to the wrecked building, amazed that a building like it could be toppled over the way it had. Debris littered the streets and fires burned where gas mains had ignited. The sound of sirens signified the arrival of the fire brigade although they were probably stretched thin as it was. Lennox took a careful gaze at the surrounding street and buildings, having the feeling that he was being watched. There seemed to be no hostiles in sight although he could not shake the feeling that someone or something was looking his way.

Epps must have sensed his uncertainty and so looked at his friend, frowning.

"Something the matter, Will?" He asked.

Lennox shook his head.

"Not really," he replied, "I just get the feeling we're being watched."

Epps looked around and shrugged.

"I can't see any Decepticons," Epps said, "But that doesn't mean they're not there."

Optimus, Ratchet and Sideswipe were parked on the street in their vehicle forms, making sure to keep an eye out for any hostiles. In an alley across the street came running three human figures, something that got the attention of the three Autobots as well as Lennox and Epps. Lennox and Epps ran onto the street to get a closer look, recognizing one of the men as ex-Sector Seven Agent Simmons. He had two other men with him and they seemed to be running away from something while shouting at the group ahead.

"Simmons?" Lennox said more to himself than to anyone else, "What the hell is he doing here?"

Epps raised his rifle, suddenly aware of the trio's frantic shouts as they came running out onto the street. Lennox sensed something was not quite right and so raised his grenade launcher, ready to fire at a moment's notice. The three Autobots had caught wind of what was about to happen and so all three quickly changed form to their full robot modes, standing in a defensive formation along the street.

Simmons bumped into a parked car and fell right over it, sliding across its hood and hitting the ground on the other side with a dull _thump!_ The other two men, one being a young African-American man and the other being a middle-aged African-American man dressed as a priest, went running for cover as they saw the three Autobots ahead. From behind them, emerging from the alley came Megatron's vehicle form: it was a large, jagged looking tank with multiple barrels. All of them opened fire upon emerging from the alley, with the Autobots kicking into action. One of the shots slammed into Sideswipe, causing him to stumble.

"Pour it on!" Lennox shouted. Megatron changed form as he came speeding out of the alley, bringing up both arm-cannons and opening fire. All three Autobots started shooting as well while Lennox and Epps had opened fire with their weapons. High-powered rounds and blasts of energy shot across the street as both sides pounded each other. Megatron took plenty of shots, forcing him to stumble backwards while emitted a rather angry sounding yell. Simmons was crouched behind a nearby parked car, keeping down as the exchange of fire continued. Finally, while soaking up plenty of damage, Megatron began to fall back. Even he knew he was in a rather disadvantageous position in a three against one fight. All three Autobots began to move forwards, firing their weapons in an unrelenting display of firepower. Megatron stumbled and quickly turned around, reverting to his vehicle mode and speeding off back the way he had come. Once he had gone the three Autobots put away their weapons, surveying the battlefield briefly.

Lennox lowered his grenade launcher, walking over to where Simmons was taking cover. Simmons had changed little since the last time Lennox had seen him, during the aftermath of the battle in Egypt. Simmons looked up at the young soldier and managed a sigh of relief, rising to his feet.

"We've had that guy chasing us for the last ten minutes," Simmons said, referring to Megatron, "Maybe he thinks we know where Sam is…"

The other two men walked over, both looking tired and dirty from the events of the night.

"Who are they?" Lennox asked, nodding to the other two men. Epps walked over, as did Optimus Prime at that moment. Off in the distance, the sounds of battle were faint but audible. They all knew Megatron would be back with reinforcements, it was unlike him to simply leave a fight unfinished. With this in mind, Lennox decided he would speed up these pleasantries a bit.

"I'm James Turner," the man in the priest outfit said. He looked to be in his mid to late-fifties, about the same age as Simmons.

"Jones Marshall," the younger man said. He was shaking, perhaps a result of having just been chased by a Decepticon or maybe it was because the air was cold…Lennox could not work out what exactly. It occurred to him that Jones was probably the innocent bystander who had been dragged into all of this.

"Where's Sam?" Optimus asked from behind, towering over the group. Concern laced his voice. If Sam had been captured by the Decepticons…

"We don't know," Simmons replied, "We got split up from Sam and Deadeye not too long ago. Those damn Decepticons took down the very building we were taking shelter in. They're determined, I'll give them that…"

"Did you say 'Deadeye'?" Sideswipe interjected, stepping over to join the conversation. He looked to Optimus, who seemed to be in deep thought.

"So it's true," Sideswipe continued, "About your son being alive…"

"Yeah, he's alive alright," Simmons said, "As helpful as he's been, he's damn reckless. He insisted on us leaving him to find Sam, even though I thought that was a bad idea. If you really are his dad, you should have taught him some discipline."

"You sure about that?" Sideswipe asked, peering down at Simmons, "Optimus was probably just like him when he was younger."

Ratchet had been keeping watch some distance behind, his thoughts often drifting to Chromia. She was probably alright, he figured, but it was not surprising that he was concerned about her wellbeing all of a sudden. While the group conversed nearby, Ratchet ran his scanners across the nearby rooftops. Something peaked on his readings and his attention went straight for a nearby rooftop…

He became aware of the laser pointer resting on the plates at his chest. He dived, just as Breakaway let fly with a charged-up sniper rifle shot. The blast shot overhead and slammed into the road some distance behind Ratchet, heat washing over his back and debris raining down around him.

"Optimus, we've got company!" Ratchet shouted, somersaulting up from his dive. He brought up his chain-gun, spraying rounds in Breakaway's direction. The former Autobot disappeared from view, only to crop up again on another rooftop.

Sideswipe and Optimus scattered while Lennox and the other humans went for cover.

"I'm getting really tired of being shot at," James stated as he, Jones and Simmons ran into a nearby shopfront, taking cover inside. Above, they heard a dull _thud_ as Breakaway climbed onto the roof.

Lennox and Epps went for cover behind some parked cars as the Autobots returned fire, blasting the tops of the buildings and blowing chunks from their sides. Breakaway was being slippery this time around, constantly moving and only stopping to line up a fully charged rifle shot and firing.

While Optimus and Sideswipe attempted to suppress Breakaway's position, Ratchet swivelled around when he became aware of another new arrival onto the scene: Slipstream, Breakaway's Decepticon "friend" had come into view on top of another building.

"Behind us!" Ratchet shouted, shifting his fire into Slipstream's direction. Sideswipe did the same but at a bad time, turning his back just as Breakaway lined up a shot from across the street. It hit Sideswipe square in the back, knocking him into the road where he writhed and groaned. Ratchet ran over to him and helped him up, firing in Breakaway's direction and forcing the former Autobot into cover.

"Optimus, I suggest we get going," Ratchet said, "There's nothing more we can do here."

Optimus seemed to contemplate this suggestion for a moment. He looked at the wounded Sideswipe who had a smouldering hole blown into his back. As the rounds flew and the exchange of fire continued, Optimus finally made his decision.

"We leave," he said firmly. He grabbed hold of the dazed and wounded Sideswipe while Ratchet quickly reverted into his vehicle mode. Flooring it towards the humans taking shelter up ahead, he flung open his doors allowing Simmons, James, Jones, Lennox and Epps entry. Once they were in he slammed the doors shut and started driving.

Both Slipstream and Breakaway were not about to let the trio of Autobots get away so easily. As Ratchet floored the accelerator both enemies opened fire, with shots blasting the ground near them. One stray blast demolished the front of a nearby building, making it collapse onto the street and probably kill anyone who was inside. Optimus had ducked into an alleyway with the wounded Sideswipe, trying to help the Autobot regain his sense. Finally Sideswipe took a hint and transformed, speeding away. Optimus let fly with a volley of fire from both of his guns, blasting Slipstream who had jumped off of a rooftop and onto the street.

Inside Ratchet's vehicle mode, Lennox had winded down one window and was attempting to lean out and take a shot at the Decepticons pursuing them. However, Simmons pulled him in when they shaved close by a building, saving Lennox from suffering a rather unfortunate decapitation.

"Thanks," Lennox said, deciding to not try that again until they were in a place with far more room.

Optimus finally transformed, seconds before Breakaway did the same and roared down the street in jet form. Slipstream followed suit and the pair of jets went spiralling up high above the city before letting fly with volleys of missiles. All of them followed in the wake of Ratchet and Sideswipe, slamming into the street and nearby buildings as both Autobots manoeuvred out of the way of the incoming missiles. Civilians screamed and ran while others took the opportunity to take snapshots with whatever photo-capture devices they had on hand, whether that be with mobile phones or plain old cameras.

Ratchet swerved at a corner as a missile shot past, colliding with a tour bus which had been driving down the street. The bus blew in half and erupted into flames, with both halves sliding across the road in opposite directions and taking out streetlights and anyone not fast enough to move out of the way.

Lennox would have called air support had the radios been working. Instead, there was that now familiar interference which signified that they were within Centurion's vicinity. Wherever Centurion was, he was hampering their ability to fight back simply by being nearby. Lennox could not even reach the other NEST forces who were supposed to be back at the rearguard because of the interference.

There was the sound of jets roaring overhead and the occupants of Ratchet's vehicle mode looked up, spying a trio of quite obviously human jets flying up high. All three immediately entered pursuit with Breakaway and Slipstream, with missiles flying and bullets whizzing through the air.

"Did you call air support?" Epps asked from the back seat.

"No," Lennox replied, frowning. He looked in the rear view mirror, seeing that both Sideswipe and Optimus had caught up. Neither Breakaway nor Slipstream was in sight, having been effectively distracted by the presence of a human air force. It seemed likely that all the chaos in Las Vegas had caught the attention of the normal military and hence the air force, something that was clarified by the sight of a pair of sleek black helicopters further up ahead.

"We'll get the attention of those guys," Lennox said, "They'll be able to get us back to the others…"

"Not so fast," Simmons said, looking at him with a serious gaze from the passenger seat. He glanced back at the helicopters flying up ahead, taking note of the fact that armed and black armoured soldiers were rappelling out of them.

"What? Why?" Lennox could not help but let some irritation creep into his voice. Why did he need to listen to what a civilian was telling him to do?

"They're not your military," Simmons replied.

Ratchet stopped, as did Sideswipe and Optimus Prime. Up ahead, the unknown force of soldiers had begun to set up a roadblock while the two helicopters that had deposited the soldiers started off in different directions in an obvious searching pattern.

"You don't think…" James Turner began, but trailed off. Epps looked confused, as did Jones Marshall.

"We had a run in with Colonel Weller from Sector Eight earlier this evening," Simmons replied, "He was after Sam. He got away and he obviously called for help."  
"Colonel Weller…as in 'Colonel Weller the nut-job from Sector Eight?'" Epps shook his head. "Even if those guys up ahead are with the Colonel, how the hell can they get away with having a military presence here, in an American city?"

"They probably have friends in high places," Simmons said, "I've been keeping tabs on them for the last few years, ever since Sector Seven got disbanded. They've been increasing the size of their operations ever they formed. I think they're becoming more popular in the government than NEST."

Lennox sighed. There always seemed to be some added complication. Nothing was ever easy. For once he would have liked a mission that went off without a hitch. There had been very few of those recently and tonight was no exception.

"So, what do we do?" Epps asked.

"We don't go near them," Simmons said, "If we do, they'll probably try capturing the Autobots for 'study' and us just because we know about them. I don't know about you guys, but I don't want to spend the rest of my life in a cell in some military facility."

A brief silence followed, falling upon the group.

"Ratchet," Lennox finally said, "Tell Sideswipe and Optimus we're making our own way out of the city. Also alert them about the risks of running into Sector Eight and keep an eye out for anymore of them."

"_Got it,"_ Ratchet replied, his voice breaking through the speakers within the vehicle before he started relaying the necessary information to Sideswipe and Optimus.

"What if Sam's been captured by them?" Jones asked. This question seemed to kill the mood entirely, forcing another silence among the group.

"Let's hope that hasn't happened," Lennox replied. Even with Deadeye protecting Sam, being up against an organization as powerful as Sector Eight could prove to be difficult. If Sam really had fallen into their hands then this mission would have failed miserably.

* * *

Centurion surveyed the city from the roof of one of the larger, more pristine looking casino/hotel buildings in Las Vegas. The city around him was lit up brightly and the insects, or the "humans" as they called themselves, went about either by foot or in their primitive vehicles. There was a noticeable lack of law and order in some parts as the destruction caused by his Decepticon forces as well as the Autobots inclined many of the local humans to take advantage of the chaos and do things they would not normally do. On a street below his optic systems zoomed in and highlight a group of humans near a shopfront. One of them hefted up a large brick and threw it through the front window, causing an alarm to sound. Even with the alarm blaring, the humans raced into the shop and began to ransack the place, making off with any valuable items that they may have liked the look of. Centurion returned his vision to its normal mode, judging the human race to be quite destructive. They tended to destroy each other through conflict, something that the Cybertronian race had done quite well. Cybertron was a ruin because of the conflict that had wracked their species. Centurion aimed to change all of that by creating a new Cybertronian Golden Age. Naturally he would be in charge, imbued with powers from Unicron for helping him out of his outer-dimensional prison. Earth would be the location where he would rebuild the Cybertron race, a race loyal to him. All Cybertronians would worship him and he in turn would worship Unicron, who would spare this planet and devour all others. That was what Unicron had promised through dreams and visions. He could still manipulate a select few from his outer-dimensional prison; he simply could not enter this universe himself. Countless other universes had been destroyed before Unicron had been sealed away into his prison, something that had apparently been a combined effort between alternate realities. Unicron had not seen it necessary to divulge details to Centurion about how exactly he had been sealed away and whatever doubts Centurion had had were quelled by the promises of power and the strength of Unicron's indoctrination. Unicron had even granted him with the ability to indoctrinate others, something which he had used to his advantage in gaining followers during his time on Cybertron during the war.

As far as Centurion knew, he was the one to rebuild the Cybertronian race in this universe, or alternate reality. There were millions of others out there, existing alongside each other and more were created constantly for every decision made, where all the different courses of action and their consequences were played out in other universes. Unicron had been manipulating events in others realities in order for them to coincide with events in this one, hinting at a much larger and more complicated scheme than it might have appeared on the surface. Centurion simply looked forward to whatever reward Unicron would give him for freeing him from his outer-dimensional prison. It would be a great reward and it would give Centurion the powers of a God.

Megatron arrived, flying by in his airborne tank mode before unfolding himself and landing on the rooftop in full robot form. He looked annoyed and his arrival was enough to bring Centurion out of his reverie. Centurion did not like Megatron, a feeling that was mutual between the two. Even so, Centurion required Megatron's aid in carrying out his master's scheme. Unicron had also mentioned something about "useful plans" concerning Megatron. Even so, Centurion could disable the uptight Decepticon if necessary as he had done so earlier in the day.

"Centurion," Megatron said, approaching the fellow Decepticon, "I am beginning to doubt your skills as an organizer of operations such as the one we're carrying out."

"My skills?" Centurion turned to look at Megatron, noticing the annoyance creasing Megatron's metallic face. "You fail to see the big picture, Megatron. The humans are disorganized and scattered, the Autobots are few and weak and Sam Witwicky is within our grasp. This operation has gone quite well for us: the human military forces cannot coordinate without their communications systems and I have been jamming those since the battle began. The Autobots can do little to help them and most have fallen prey to a diversionary attack before falling back from an opposing human force. Our enemies are in disarray and do you know why, Megatron?" He paused, letting his words sink in. "Because of me, that is why. I am in charge of the Decepticons now, Megatron, and I am doing a far better job than you ever did. When you lead the Decepticons, how many Autobots fell in battle?"

"That is not the point…"

"The point is, since I became the leader of the Decepticons the Autobots actually began to take casualties," Centurion said, "You may have killed Optimus Prime and the Autobot known as 'Jazz' but it is no good killing someone who simply gets resurrected afterwards. Optimus could have very easily stayed dead if it was not for your incompetent leadership."

Anger crossed Megatron's face as Centurion said this. As harsh as it sounded, it was actually quite true.

"We have had several opportunities tonight to eliminate the Autobots and their human allies in NEST," Megatron said, his voice laced with anger and hatred towards Centurion, "But you have always called them back or interfered. Starscream was in pursuit of the Prime's son, Deadeye, when you…"

"There is a reason why I made sure that Deadeye was left alone," Centurion said, "Naturally, most of your Decepticon friends don't quite follow orders properly. Deadeye is _mine_ when I confront him. He caused me trouble in the past and I want to be the one to kill him. He's shielding Sam Witwicky's energy readings with his own. He's protecting the boy, the boy we need."

"The Autobots are vulnerable!" Megatron shouted angrily, "We can finish them now!"

"The few Decepticons we have under our command are not enough to take on the combined might of the Autobots and their human allies," Centurion replied, his tone level, "We need to raise an army first. And we need the power within Sam Witwicky to do that. As well, we need the Lance of Unicron, something which is in the possession of a very clever human who knows just how to hide it from our sensors. He is also after Sam."

"You're making a mistake by holding us back," Megatron said, "The Autobots are the biggest threat. The human military is weak…"

"They have numbers and they are constantly advancing in weapons technology," Centurion said, "They are stronger than you think."

"So what do you suggest we do, Centurion?" Megatron asked, "Let the Autobots get away?"

Centurion shook his head. Megatron never seemed to see the big picture.

"We've caused chaos here in this city tonight," Centurion said, giving the robot equivalent of a smile, "That will have ramifications for the Autobots and their human allies. We've sown the seeds of revolution here tonight and the path to our final goal now has fewer obstacles. How do you think the human governments will react to such chaos and destruction?"

Megatron did not reply. As if to prove a point, Centurion transformed his right arm into an energy cannon and fired at a slight angle from the roof, watching as the blast shot across the sky and slammed into the side of a distant building, smoke and fire billowing forth.

"They will want the Autobots to leave," Centurion said, "For the humans think they can deal with us themselves. They can't…Well, certainly not me."

"You're resting our hopes of success on the possible reaction of the human governments?" Megatron asked, disdain creeping into his voice.

"No, no, no," Centurion replied, shaking his head, "That will be a mere side effect, a bonus. Tonight we have revealed our presence to the world. By dawn, the human media will be full of videos and photographs of us and the Autobots causing chaos in one of the more well-known human cities on their planet. There will be humans who will want to uncover the truth, rival nations who will want a piece of the action. Tonight, or today as it is only three hours before sunrise…today we have started something that will become so massive in a short time that not only will the Autobots be forced to leave but we will have a perfect opportunity to carry out the final phase of my plan. All we need is Sam Witwicky…whereas the Lance of Unicron will come to us."

He gazed out across the city, watching as columns of smoke wafted up from spots amongst the city's buildings where battles had occurred. In the distance his sensors detected the Autobot known as Deadeye, son of Optimus Prime and sole Cybertronian responsible for ruining Centurion's plan when he had first arrived on this planet. Deadeye was doing his best to shield the unmistakable Matrix of Leadership energy that emanated from Sam but there was still some leaking through, exposing Sam Witwicky's presence to little else but the most sensitive of Cybertronian detection systems.

"I will leave in order to pursue Sam Witwicky," Centurion said, turning back to look at Megatron, "Until I return, feel free to cause more chaos in the city of Las Vegas. Make sure the human public finds out about us, make sure that our actions will be impossible for their military to cover-up as they have done in the past."

Megatron nodded, obviously relishing the thought of causing simple destruction. He watched as Centurion jumped off of the rooftop, transforming into a Cybertronian jet before roaring off into the distance. On the streets below police cars and fire engines raced by while fires burned and chaos reigned. Unlike the cover-up that had followed the worldwide Decepticon broadcast in the wake of Optimus Prime's "death", the destruction of most of a city would be hard to hide. Something more thorough was needed to demolish Las Vegas though, so Megatron opened a communications link with none other than Tidal Wave. While the Autobots fled and the human military was in disarray, the Decepticons had free reign over the city of Las Vegas.


	21. Apprehension

**Apprehension  
**Somewhere outside of Las Vegas, Nevada  
December 17th, 2010

Morning was only just arriving across the state of Nevada, the sun rising over the distant desert hills and mesas, casting a purple-blue glow across the sky. The desert heat had already begun to set in, the sunlight radiating off of the desert floor and making the air a little above it quite warm.

Sam Witwicky had been in a lot of pain for the last few hours as the transformation accelerated, overtaking most of his chest and working its way down his right leg. The new heads-up display across one half of his vision was disorienting to say the least and was only partially within his control. It still highlighted things and zoomed in on objects without him wanting it to, a sign that he could very well lose control of his body. There was another presence inside his mind, one that seemed to be lying in wait before it attempted to overtake him completely. He was still in denial about it though, unable to quite fathom how he was turning into some sort of Decepticon. He put his still human left-hand to his neck, feeling along the metal ridges that had formed there and replaced his human flesh. Most of his face was being taken over, something that was made evident by the fact he could simply peel the human flesh away…

Underneath was revealed his new form. His remaining human eye practically ruptured and Sam groaned, hurriedly scraping the unnecessary human parts away. Blood flowed freely and soaked his clothing but he cared little about it anymore. The heads-up display shot across the whole of his vision as a red Decepticon optic took the place of his left eye.

He sat against the back wall of a service station, with Deadeye parked in vehicle form just ahead. They had stopped here at Sam's insistence about half an hour ago when the pain had become almost unbearable. Deadeye had said very little when Sam had started scraping away the human flesh on his face, neck and chest. His ever-developing Cybertronian form was showing itself under his flesh, rupturing muscle as it forced its way forwards. His bones had all but been absorbed into his new form, probably becoming part of whatever endoskeleton he had now. The transformation itself was not quite complete as half of his chest and most of his legs were still human, as well as half of his left arm. That was certain to change though, something that chilled him to the core.

Heat and cold were not quite the same with his changing body. The sun did not feel as hot as it used to and the night had not been terribly cold either. It was as if his new form could take temperature somewhat more effectively than his human body had ever been able to. This made sense as Cybertronians could travel through the cold vacuum of space: they needed to be able to take such extreme temperatures in order to survive an environment like that.

So many thoughts were racing through Sam's mind, especially since the inside of his head had begun to hurt. His brain was being assaulted by the transformation, slowly being converted into the Cybertronian equivalent, whatever that was. And again there was that cold and calculating Decepticon presence, watching and waiting. Sam knew he would have to fight it, he knew that his human mind and his Decepticon mind would have to make some sort of compromise. They both shared this body now, even if it had been Sam's to begin with. If he had the power of the Matrix of Leadership within him then he was probably capable of many things no other Cybertronian could do. Whatever abilities he had were yet to reveal themselves, though.

For the last twenty minutes Sam had been overcome by a surge of hunger, something that surprised him considering what he was turning into. Did Cybertronians need to eat? He doubted it. Energon was pretty much the only thing they needed to survive. Thinking about this, Sam began to worry: how much energon did he have and how much would he need? There was a deeper, instinctual thought to this. The power of the Matrix of Leadership had given him a rather unbridled taste for the stuff, more so than any ordinary Cybertronian.

Sam stumbled an used one arm to balance himself on the back wall of the service station. He looked to Deadeye who was still parked nearby, presumably watching him intently. His heads-up display delivered a few tid-bits of information: _Autobot, call-sign: Deadeye. Distance: 12.57m. Elevation: 0.056m. Energon levels: 86% (nominal)._

"Deadeye," Sam said, his voice coming out as metallic and raspy, "I feel like shit." He considered what else to add to this statement but his mind came up dry. He could barely think with all of the pain, the most pronounced being at his chest where a life-spark was forming. Most of his other internal organs were being converted for other purposes while some, such as his intestines, he had thrown up earlier. The prospect of reverse this transformation seemed very unlikely.

"_You look like shit,"_ Deadeye replied rather bluntly, that British twang in his voice quite noticeable.

"I feel hungry," Sam said, stumbling over to the Autobot, "That I don't get. I didn't think I would need to eat anymore…"

"_That depends of your definition of 'hunger'. Chances are, your body needs some nutrients to cope with the changes. There mustn't be much more to the transformation though, since you're already coming up as an 'anomalous Cybertronian life-form' on my scanners…"_

Sam swallowed, feeling the practically metal muscles at work in his throat. Anomalous Cybertronian life-form? What a crock of shit.

"What do you suggest I do, then?" Sam asked. He was pretty much resigned to his fate and if that fate was to spend the rest of his days as a Cybertronian, then so be it. He was still concerned about meeting his parents and Mikaela…what would he tell them? How would they react?

"_If you're hungry, get something to eat. Otherwise, we should get moving again. The Decepticons could be right on our tail…"_

Sam looked towards the service station and then back to Deadeye. What would he do? After a moment of thought, Sam started around to the front of the service station. It was mostly deserted at this time of the morning so there was no one outside. This service station was typical of other desert ones, with a few gas pumps out the front and a convenience store within the building. Sam stepped through the front door, not quite caring what he would look like to an ordinary person. The man at the counter, a young blonde-haired guy in a blue shirt and jeans, was busy sorting money in the cash register and so did not look up to see who entered the store.

Sam started walking down one aisle, snatching up a shopping basket on his way. His changing body craved sugar, something that was not in short supply in this store. He began grabbing Twinkies and other assorted chocolate bars as he went, stuffing them into shopping basket until it was literally overflowing. Satisfied, he started towards the counter. The man there looked up to greet him but froze when he saw the half-human and unevenly proportioned biped standing before him.

"Do you want me to pay for this stuff?" Sam asked, almost casually, "Or should I just leave?"

The man simply stared at him, mouth agape. Sam shook his head, turned around and left the store. As he walked on, he glanced behind and caught a glimpse of the cashier picking up a telephone and dialling a number. No doubt he was calling someone about his encounter with the hybrid but said hybrid was long past caring.

Sam opened one of the Twinkie packets as he walked up to Deadeye, who thoughtfully opened the driver's side door. Sam dumped the basket full of sugary treats on the passenger seat before climbing into the driver's seat. The door closed behind him and Sam proceeded to chew down on the Twinkie bar in his hands. The taste was much the same as he remembered, despite the fact he lacked a tongue in his new and ever developing form. Sam quickly finished one bar and moved on to another, finishing them off in quick succession.

Deadeye flicked on his in-car radio, the sound of a news reporter's voice breaking into the relative silence of the vehicle interior.

"_Never in the history of the United States has there been terrorist attacks of this magnitude," _the news reporter, a male, stated in a level tone, _"Details at this moment in time are sketchy but the death toll currently counts about ten thousand, with most of the Las Vegas downtown area lying in ruin. One of our nation's landmark cities lies in ruin, the result of a devastating act of aggression against our country. This follows in the wake of attacks in Arizona and other parts of Nevada, as well as supposed linked attacks in Europe that have occurred over the last three days._

"_Eyewitness accounts of the events that transpired in Las Vegas last night mainly cohere to the same unbelievable truth: that a military operation in Las Vegas was attacked by large, robotic-like machines that can reportedly 'change form' and are equipped with onboard weaponry. Whether this is the result of military experimentation is unknown as officials at the Pentagon are yet to make a statement. Many witnesses took photos and videos of these robots and as such many have already uploaded them to the Internet, with some of these videos clocking in about two hundred thousand hits within half an hour. As word spreads of these tremendous events, the pressure on our nation's government increases. The President has been moved to a secure location and the Secretary of Defence, Jon Keller, will be making a statement at a press conference within the next five minutes. We will cut to that press conference as soon as the Secretary of Defence begins to make a statement."_

Sam sat and listened as he ate his Twinkies, trying to grasp the full extent of what had happened. Most of Las Vegas lay in ruin, the result of the Decepticons deciding to make their presence on this Earth completely obvious and impossible to cover-up. He wondered if James Turner, Jones Marshall and Simmons were alright or if they were part of that ten thousand people death toll. Ten thousand! He could barely get his head around it. Never had the Decepticons claimed that many lives before. They were obviously trying hard to make their presence clear to humanity.

Deadeye started his engines and began driving. Sam kept eating, trying to work out just how he could still be eating and digesting when his body was mostly different. He supposed that he was taking nutrients in a different way…

He threw up on the floor near his feet at that moment, with bits of Twinkie and other chocolate bars he had since eaten splattering out. Deadeye complained about the mess while Sam decided to stop eating pushing aside the basket full of chocolates and other sweets before sitting back in his seat. The radio was still on and the news report continued. Outside, the desert surroundings passed by at a steady speed as Deadeye sped down the highway.

"_We have just received word that the Secretary of Defence is making his statement," _the news reporter continued, _"We'll cross to there now in three seconds…"_

There was a short pause and then the sound of many voices talking over each other at once, silenced by a man's voice: _"And now, ladies and gentlemen, the Secretary of Defence."_

Sam knew the Secretary of Defence, having encountered him back in 2007 during what had happened at Hoover Dam. Jon Keller's stint as Secretary of Defence was nearing its end but it seemed that he was stuck with the job of explaining to the public just what the hell had happened in Las Vegas.

"_Ladies and gentlemen, people of the United States," _the Secretary of Defence began, his tone level but serious, _"Our nation had suffered at the hands of what many of you have labelled as 'terrorists'. For years this government has been ensuring the safety of its citizens by hiding the truth of these so-called 'attacks' that have occurred over the last few years…"_

As soon as he said this the people in the audience began to hurl questions his way while some swore loudly. He waited for the uproar to die down (which took about half a minute) before continuing. Sam could understand that people would be upset, he just could not believe that the Secretary of Defence was about to blow the whistle. Perhaps the pressure on them to hide the truth had become too much? Sam could feel some sympathy for Jon Keller, stuck with the job of telling the truth and blowing the whistle entirely.

_"Since 2007, our government has been cooperating with a race of robotic alien beings to ensure the protection of our people, of our planet, from a powerful enemy," _the Secretary of Defence said, immediately having more and more annoyed and angered questions hurled his way by the journalists in the audience, _"It sounds unbelievable but it is entirely true. We have been studying this race for years and some of our greatest technological achievements have stemmed directly from their technology. Our cooperation with the friendly aliens only began in 2007 but we have been aware of their existence since the early 1900s. Currently our military and the friendly aliens have been working together to fight a number of hostile aliens that are on our planet. These hostile aliens are directly responsible for not only the recent terrorist attacks, but also attacks in Los Angeles and Egypt in the past few years…"  
_Deadeye flicked off the radio. Sam had heard enough of it to know that things were getting desperate if the Secretary of Defence was allowing full disclosure to the public about the Cybertronians. Never had he thought that would happen, at least not until his lifetime had come and gone. Obviously, he had been wrong.

"_Things are falling apart," _Deadeye stated, his voice filtering through the speakers inside the car, _"I take it your government's never done this sort of thing before?"_

"Never a full disclosure," Sam said, "I never thought they'd do it but I guess there's no way in hell they'd be able to cover up what happened in Las Vegas. They obviously have to tell the public after ten thousand people got killed." He paused for a moment, deciding to change the subject. "So, uh, Deadeye…just where are we going?"

"_Nowhere. I'm just getting you as far from the Decepticons as I can. If you can think of a good place to hide…"_

"We should try and get in contact with NEST," Sam said. He scratched at his human left forearm, scraping away the skin there and revealing the metal forming underneath. If he was not mistaken his Cybertronian form was slightly increasing in size and bulk, almost becoming disproportionate to his human parts that were yet to change.

"_I've been trying to get in contact with the other Autobots but I can't get a fix on any of them," _Deadeye said, _"As far as I can tell, they're either all dead or hiding their signals." _He paused. _"I think the latter is the more favourable possibility. There's just no way to be certain."_

"I guess, until you get in contact with them, we just keep on driving," Sam replied, "I honestly can't think of anything else to do. I can't go out in public looking like the way I am, though, so try and keep me away from the towns and cities." It was a logical thing to do: if a large amount of people saw him he would probably get arrested and sent off to some laboratory to be studied on. He did not want that, not at all. He did not want to become some science experiment, getting poked and prodded. He remembered his encounter with Colonel Weller and what had happened, complete with his right arm turning into an energy cannon. How he had done that was beyond him and even now he held his Cybertronian right arm in front of him, trying to concentrate on it and change its form but to no avail.

He sat back in the driver's seat, watching the desert go by the windows. The highway was practically deserted as no other vehicles were driving along. Sam began to think about what he would tell his parents and Mikaela, if he ever got a chance to talk to them. Looking the way he did now, he doubted his relationships with those close to him would ever be the same. His parents would accept him for who he was but Mikaela…That was a tricky one to work out. Very tricky.

"Hey, Deadeye," Sam said, a thought suddenly occurring to him.

"_Yeah?"_

"I've been thinking," Sam began, "About what's happening to me. If I have the power of the Matrix of Leadership within me, doesn't that mean I can…you know…bring things back to life?"

"_What do you mean?"_

"I used the Matrix to bring Optimus Prime back to life last year," Sam said, "And since I'm pretty much the Matrix now, doesn't that mean I can do the same sort of thing again?"

"_I don't know,"_ Deadeye said, his British-accented voice tinged with uncertainty, _"You mightn't be able to control the power. Not yet, anyway."_

Sam simply nodded. If he did indeed have the power of the Matrix of Leadership at his disposal then he could very well bring all the dead Autobots back to life: Ironhide, Depthcharge and even Bumblebee. They deserved as much, he just needed to work out how to do it.

Behind them, just over a rise that the highway crossed over, a trio of black helicopters appeared. They moved almost silently across the desert, sunlight glistening over their black paintjobs. The windows in the front of each were tinted, hiding the identities of those within. Sam only just noticed them when he glanced in the rear view mirror. For a moment he thought they may have been NEST or some other branch of the military. It seemed normal that they would simply continue flying overhead, uninterested in the vehicle driving along below and its lone occupant. However, the trio of black helicopters were flying quite low and were heading straight for the car.

Sam returned to face the front. Did Deadeye know they were being followed? And who the hell were the people in the black helicopters? There were conspiracy theories concerning black helicopters but he had never really taken notice of that sort of thing. Conspiracy theories were mainly bullshit, save for the ones involving Cybertronians.

"Hey, Deadeye," Sam said, his raspy metallic voice edged with worry, "We're being followed."

"_I noticed,"_ Deadeye replied, _"And I think I know who those guys are."_

There was that possibility playing at the back of Sam's mind that the people in the black helicopters may be connected to Colonel Weller. He hoped that was not the case. Deadeye had already begun to accelerate, picking up speed and tearing down the desert highway as the three black helicopters began to pursue them.

"_I got chased by some of these guys when I escaped Sector Eight custody,"_ Deadeye said, _"They've probably been tracking us for a while. I wouldn't be surprised if they had been."_

Sam could not help but sit back in the driver's seat as Deadeye's speed increased, the force of the acceleration pushing Sam back into his seat. The desert surroundings rushed on by in a blur but the helicopters seemed to be gaining on them, being at a distinct advantage since they were airborne. Up ahead the shape of a distant building could be seen against the open desert and it gradually began to increase in size as they neared, turning out to be some sort of desert inn. The main sign was made to look like a flying saucer and the alien theme continued at the front entrance, complete with posters of the archetypal gray black-eyed alien. The whole setup made sense, since Nevada was the location of all sorts of alien conspiracy theories and UFO hotspots. There were a few cars parked outside of the inn, signifying that there were people inside. Sam looked around for anywhere else to go but there was nothing but desert, with the alien-theme inn being the only landmark for as far as the eye could see.

From around the side of the building came a trio of black SUVs, all three of which stopped along the highway in the path of Deadeye who was speeding along. Seeing them in their path, Deadeye came to a skidding halt. Sam was rocked about inside the vehicle, realizing then that they were effectively trapped. Where the hell else could they go except for the open desert? They would be an even easier target out there.

Immediately armed soldiers in black outfits started to climb out of the SUVs, rushing to make a perimeter as they trained their weapons in the direction of the Autobot. The three helicopters closed in and somewhat unsurprisingly, the level-headed Southern drawl that was Colonel Weller's voice broke in through a set of speakers on the lead helicopter:

"_Samuel Witwicky, give yourself up. You're completely surrounded and there ain't nowhere to go save for the open desert. Come out of the vehicle with your hands up and no one will get hurt."_

"Bullshit," Sam said simply. Gathering as much courage as he could, he grabbed the handle on his side's door and pushed it open. The soldiers up ahead had their weapons trained on him as he exited the vehicle.

"_Sam," _Deadeye said, a somewhat cocky tone working its way into the Autobot's voice, _"Start running. I'll take care of these bastards."_

Sam had a feeling this would not end well but he did not care. He was not about to just give himself up to Weller and probably get shipped off to some lab to be experimented on. Stepping away from the vehicle, Sam put up his arms in a sign of surrender. He noticed some of the soldier's looks of surprise and disgust at the sight of the mutating hybrid. Their attention was diverted when Deadeye transformed, coming up tall and proud in the middle of the road in full robot mode. He brought out both his weapons, spinning them about in his hands cowboy-style. Sam took this as a sign to start running. He did just that, racing for the nearby inn as the shooting started.

Some of the soldiers immediately went in pursuit of Sam while others opened fire on Deadeye. The Autobot soaked up their withering assault rifle fire and after a few seconds returned the favour, blasting the trio of SUVs with his weapons. They exploded, sending nearby soldiers running or simply knocking them over.

Sam made it to the entrance of the inn, pushing it open and knocking aside a few people who had started heading outside to investigate the noise.

Outside, the helicopters began to circle Deadeye who had only just shifted his attention to them. Colonel Weller ordered the gunners on each of the helicopter to fire, with a grappling line shooting forth from one of the helicopter's dorsal guns. It slammed into Deadeye's right arm, immobilizing it as the helicopter began to wind the line back. Before Deadeye could react another helicopter had fired its grappling rope, snaring the Autobot's other arm. Both arms were stretched out to his sides, ensuring that the Autobot could not aim or use his weapons. Soldiers raced forward armed with nitrogen canisters. The third and final helicopter launched its grappling line, snaring Deadeye's left leg. It forced it back and brought it out from under him, making him fall forwards. Deadeye was swearing as he went down, being blasted with liquid nitrogen in an effort to completely immobilize him.

Sam was inside the inn by now, diving over the bar as the Sector Eight soldiers charged inside. Some opened fire with their assault rifles, pounding the bar with bullets and smashing glasses and bottles. Assorted spilt beverages and pieces of glass rained onto Sam as he crouched behind the bar, watching as the bartender, a young woman with blonde hair, went down from a single round to the chest. She landed in a heap near Sam, blood spraying onto the young man's face.

Seeing this, Sam knew just how heartless Sector Eight was. They would kill anyone who got in their way to ensure the success of their goals. Colonel Weller was not a man seeking to ensure the survival of the human race: he was a monster. A complete and utter monster.

_Kill them all._ The Decepticon presence in his mind finally spoke after a long while of silence.

Sam stood up, yelling as he did. His pulse raced, alien symbols danced across his heads-up display…the height, distance and threat levels of his targets ahead. He felt the agonizing if brief instant of pain as his right arm transformed, becoming the powerful Cybertronian cannon he had used to escape Colonel Weller before. The four soldiers that had spread out from the door of the inn were crouched and firing in his general direction. A round caught Sam in the chest but it barely hurt. Instead, it was deflected by the hard metal plating that had formed there and flew off elsewhere.

Sam began to fire wildly, overcome with such a rage that it clouded his ability to think straight and even bother taking aim. Blasts blew holes through the front wall, sending plaster and fragments of wood flying everywhere.

The soldiers inside the inn began to fall back, racing out of the door. Sam climbed over the bar and followed, stepping back outside and watching as soldiers blasted a motionless Deadeye with liquid nitrogen. Seeing this, Sam yelled: he yelled at them to stop, to leave the Autobot alone. He felt another wave of pain as his right arm reverted back to its normal form, almost as if some inner part of his mind had regained control and was telling him that he was no murderer. The men he had shot at were simply following orders: they were not at fault. It was Colonel Weller who deserved to die for what he was doing, what he was planning to do.

"Stop!" Sam yelled, charging for the soldiers blasting Deadeye with liquid nitrogen. He tackled one to the ground, using his enhanced Cybertronian strength to deliver a crippling blow to the man's face. Blood sprayed and bones broke, with part of the man's skull rupturing and spilling blood onto the heated tarmac underneath.

Two soldiers grabbed Sam by the arms, pulling him off of the beaten up man beneath him. Sam turned around and shook free of their grip, using his right Cybertronian arm to punch one across the face. The force of the blow sent him flying backwards about six feet. Another soldier turned his rifle onto Sam, opening fire from only a few yards away. The rounds pounded Sam in the front, some being deflected while others connected with the human flesh still below his chest and at his legs. Sam screamed in pain but managed to walk up to the man with the rifle, grabbing the barrel with his right hand and bending it out of shape.

Something hit Sam in the back and all of a sudden a crippling surge of pain shot through him, sending him into uncontrollable convulsions. He knew then that he had been struck by some kind of powerful stun weapon. As much as he wanted to get up and try and save Deadeye, it was near impossible to do so as his body was wracked with over fifty thousand volts of electricity. Colonel Weller grabbed him from behind once the pain stopped, turning him around as another two soldiers grabbed his arms.

"My God," Weller said upon seeing Sam's mostly transformed figure up close. Weller looked no different to the last time Sam had met him, although the Colonel lacked Farnell, his closest lackey. "You're a fucking mess, son."

"Fuck you," Sam spat, a slight spray of energon fluid connecting with the Colonel's face. The Colonel wiped it away with one sleeve, holding up a cattle-prod in a very intimidating manner. He pressed a button and the tip buzzed with electricity.

"You and your Autobot pal will be very useful," Weller said, "You for the obvious power and scientific prospects you hold. Your Autobot friend will be the first proper test subject for a little something special our friends in the biological weapons research division have cooked up. You should be flattered, Sam."

Sam struggled against the soldiers that held him, hurrying a glance at Deadeye. The Autobot lay still, being occasionally blasted by soldiers with liquid nitrogen canisters. Other soldiers were hooking him up to a helicopter buzzing him overhead, obviously in preparation to be flown off somewhere.

"I suggest you cooperate with us, son," Weller said, regaining Sam's attention.

"Go fuck yourself," Sam said, although what fight he had had earlier had all but gone. He was obviously in a very troublesome and nigh inescapable situation.

Weller stuck the prod against the front of Sam's neck and switched it on. Sam emitted a loud metallic squeal as the agonizing rush of electricity sent every nerve he had alight, making him fall to his knees. Weller switched off the prod, looking down at Sam with contempt.

"There's no use fighting anymore, son," Weller stated, "You're with us now, whether you like it or not."

Sam had little opportunity to respond before one of the soldiers standing behind him brought the butt-end of his rifle into the back of his head, sending Sam sprawling forwards. Another blow knocked him into unconsciousness.


	22. Cutting Losses

**Cutting Losses  
**Las Vegas, Nevada  
December 17th, 2010

Much of downtown Las Vegas was in ruin, with fires blazing and columns of smoke wafting high over the city skyline. Ambulance and fire truck sirens wailed while the already stretched-thin police force attempted to maintain law and order in the devastated sections of the city. People were rioting and looting while others picked through the rubble for whatever reason, whether it was to find bodies of friend sand relatives or belongings that may have been buried under the rubble. The full extent of what had happening was yet to really sink in for the Las Vegas civilians, even though there was already much talk on the television and radio concerning the biggest public reveal in years.

The operation in Las Vegas had not gone as well as it could have, Major William Lennox knew this much. The Decepticons had been bad enough to face, although the intrusion of Sector Eight forces had complicated things considerably. The Autobots and NEST forces had been forced to pull out of the city, regrouping on the southern outskirts. Here, Lennox and Master Sergeant Epps sat inside Ratchet's vehicle mode along with James Turner, Jones Marshall and John Simmons. Traffic was particularly heavy as many had abandoned their vehicles during the fighting in the city while many others were trying to leave, with their cars packed full of belongings as they sought to get out of the city.

Inside Ratchet's vehicle mode, the radio was on. The group had been listening to it for a while, ever since the public disclosure had begun. At first Lennox had been angered to discover that their own government was blowing the whistle but he had soon relaxed, realizing that it would have been nigh impossible to cover up what had happened in Las Vegas. Apparently YouTube was full of recently uploaded videos of robots on the rampage in Las Vegas, making a cover-up incredibly difficult to achieve. It seemed logical after years of operating in secrecy that the public should be told the truth, especially after so many deaths had occurred. Even so, there would be a massive public backlash. Lennox was sure of it.

The regrouping area was in the grounds of a disused meat-packing facility in the south area of the city. So far the traffic had made getting there take some time. They were currently stuck on a street with houses on both sides, with cars congesting the roads and people flocking on the sidewalks. Most seemed to be watching Ratchet closely, as well as Optimus and Sideswipe who were both in vehicle forms and both following Ratchet closely behind. Epps had suggested they go on foot to get through all of the traffic, with the Autobots taking their full robot modes and proceeding to the meat-packing facility. Lennox had decided against that course of action since he was certain that having a few alien robots walk down a populated street would cause trouble.

By now it was morning, with the sun rising up over the horizon and casting a sallow glow across the city. Looking at it reminded Lennox of just how little sleep he had gotten in the last few days. With the threat of being killed by an evil alien robot seemingly gone for now, the adrenaline had ceased pumping through him and a very heavy feeling of weariness had set in. Epps, who was sitting in the back seat, had already fallen asleep, head lulled to one side and thin trail of drool dribbling from the corner of his mouth. Lennox yawned but could not bring himself to fall asleep, not yet anyhow. There were still things to be done, the main one of which was to find Sam Witwicky. According to James Turner, Sam and the Autobot known as Deadeye had made their escape from the city hours ago. They would need to be tracked down and taken into NEST custody before the mission could continue properly.

The crowds of people seemed to be working their way through the congested cars, working their way closer to the slower trio of Autobots moving along the road. Lennox rubbed his weary eyes and looked out of the window, watching as several angry looking people started to near the vehicle.

"Hey, Epps, take a look at this," Lennox said, glancing back at Epps who woke up from his slumber. He rubbed his eyes and looked out of the window, watching as the riotous crowd seemed to be moving in to surround them.

"I don't like the look of this," James said, not directing the statement to anyone in particular.

"_Do you think they know who we are?" _Ratchet's voice filtered through the speakers on the dashboard. Lennox knew what he meant, that maybe the civilians knew that the vehicles they rode in were in fact Autobots…the very same Autobots that had had a hand in destroying part of Las Vegas.

"It's a possibility," Lennox replied, "But I wouldn't be sure of it."

As sure as he was, he was not quite prepared for the thrown brick that collided with his side's window with a loud _clunk!_ The window itself did not break, the Autobot material far stronger than ordinary glass but it was enough to give the occupants of the vehicle a good idea about what sort of situation they were in.

"Shit!" Jones Marshall exclaimed as the angry mob began to throw soft drink cans and other assorted garbage at the vehicle. One rather angry looking man in a red shirt and jeans raced up to the side of the vehicle, trying to pull open the door. Lennox watched as he struggled with the lock before giving up, looking straight at Lennox through the window and pointing an accusing finger at him.

"Typical human reaction," Simmons said from the back-seat, "When something bad happens, they look for someone to blame. And they're blaming us."

"Why us for?" Jones asked, sounding annoyed. The vehicle continued to steadily make its way through the congested streets, with more people joining the angry mob as they began to swamp not only Ratchet but Sideswipe and Optimus as well.

"The Decepticons were the ones who killed all those people," Jones continued, "Not us. I'm just an innocent bystander, damn it! I shouldn't be involved!"

James rolled his eyes and shook his head. He had already heard enough of Jones' complaints to last a lifetime. He turned around and looked towards the younger man, shooting him a stern gaze.

"Jones, just stop your damn complaining! You're in this now so you ain't an innocent bystander any longer, you got that?"

Jones seemed to nod in reply, some sense returning to him. What could have been a panic attack had receded to a sense of silent discontent. Jones would never understand his situation or just why it had to be him who got dragged into all of this and not someone else. James returned his gaze out the front of the vehicle, just as a bottle of Coke hit the windscreen and spilled open, sending the brown fizzy beverage across the entire windshield.

Another member of the angry mob, this one armed with a hammer, ran up alongside Lennox's window and began to slam the hammer into the glass. Lennox shuffled back in his seat, putting his right hand to the Beretta pistol he had in his waist holster. The angry man, who looked somewhat wealthy from the expensive grey suit he was wearing, finally succeeded in leaving a few cracks in the window.

"_Lennox,"_ Ratchet's voice called through the dashboard speakers, _"That glass isn't indestructible. I'd be careful if I were you."_

"Maybe we should stop and try and talk sense into these guys?" Simmons suggested, although by the look on his face even he knew that this would not be a clever move. His attention was drawn to the few people crowding near his window, one of which was having a good attempt at trying the handle on the door. Simmons managed an awkward smile at the obviously pissed off people outside.

"Uh…Ratchet, could you step on it a little?" Simmons asked, "I don't like the idea of getting beaten to death by an angry mob."

The whole premise of hitting the accelerator a little harder was eliminated by the fact that several people were grouping directly in front of the slowly moving vehicle, some of them throwing rubbish while one wielded a shovel in a rather threatening manner.

The man with the hammer who had been hitting Lennox's side window finally succeeded in smashing it, sending a shower of glass into Lennox's lap. Before anyone in the vehicle could react, the man had reached in and grabbed the door handle, opening it from the inside. Lennox went for his sidearm, thinking he could use it to ward off the angry mob but he had little chance to grab it from his holster before the man grabbed him and quite literally threw him out of the vehicle. Ratchet skidded to a halt, as did Sideswipe and Optimus as Lennox hit the curb and was immediately swamped by some of the more violent members of the angry mob.

Epps was out of the vehicle in seconds but even he was swamped by angry people. He pushed one of them away, sending a middle-aged man into the gutter who in turn knocked his head and began to bleed. One other man, a bearded guy in shorts and a white shirt, delivered a right hook straight into Epps' jaw, knocking the soldier back and dazing him momentarily. Other people were swarming around the now open vehicle, grabbing the remaining occupants and throwing them out. Angered cries, coupled with plenty of swear words, could be heard as the mob began to let out its frustrations on the group. Lennox was only just rising to his feet when the man with the shovel brought it down hard onto his lower back, knocking Lennox back onto the pavement.

James found himself out of the vehicle, being grabbed and pushed about by the scrambling mob. He went for the Magnum revolver he had at his waist, pulling it free. As the closest people cleared away from him as they saw the weapon, one man with a baseball came lunging at him. James impulsively fired, aiming low and blowing a chunk out of the man's right leg. The man fell and began to scream. The gunshot echoed throughout the street and was enough to make even some of the more enraged people freeze in their tracks.

James held the revolver up high over his head, his gaze stern as he looked at the surrounding people. None of them seemed so willing to approach him when he had a gun out.

Lennox rose to his feet, his back screaming in pain as he looked around. There were men and women of different ages and races, while some civilians not part of the mob simply watched on from the sidewalk. They were just as guilty as those who took part, Lennox thought angrily. To think that he had been trying to help these people, to save them from the Decepticons and this was the thanks he got?

He wandered over to where Epps lay, pushing aside an old man who had been about to punch him. He helped Epps back onto his feet. Nearby, Simmons was helping a bruised Jones back up.

"What the fuck is wrong with you people?" Jones asked aloud, directing the question to no one in particular. He paused for a moment, wiggling his tongue around his mouth before spitting out a tooth that had been knocked free during the brawl. "Shit…" Jones muttered when he saw it.

"Put the gun away."

The voice belonged to a rather anxious looking man who stood near James, a Colt pistol in his hand and pointing straight at the back of James' head. James slowly turned around, his Magnum revolver pointing at the sky still. The anxious man was dressed in a dark grey business suit. Where he had gotten a gun was open for speculation.

"You don't want to shoot me…" James began but was interrupted.

"Put the gun down!" The man shouted.

Lennox saw the ensuring standoff and went for his sidearm. Someone grabbed him from behind, forcing his arms behind his back while someone else grabbed his pistol from the holster. He felt the barrel get pushed against the back of his head. Simmons and James stood nearby, not sure on what to do. Epps had back against Ratchet's vehicle form, one hand hovering near his sidearm. If he went for it then either Lennox or James would get shot and the ensuing shootout could very well result in the deaths of civilians. As much as Epps hated Las Vegas' civilian populace at this time, it was his duty to protect the public.

"Ratchet!" Lennox shouted, "Transform! Show these morons what they're really dealing with!"

Ratchet obeyed, as did Sideswipe and Optimus. Epps stepped away from Ratchet as the Autobots transformed, standing tall and towering over the human crowd in their full robot modes. Lennox felt the gun pressed against the back of his head fall away while the anxious man holding James at gunpoint dropped his weapon and ran.

Lennox struggled free of the grip of the civilian behind him, turning around to face them. He snatched his sidearm off of the civilian that had taken it, gesturing to the three Autobots. He needed to let his anger out somehow and now seemed a good opportunity.

"Don't you people understand?" Lennox exclaimed, "We're on your side! We're the ones trying to protect you! There are things we've seen that would give you people nightmares! We've had to save the fucking planet on two separate occasions! And this is how you repay us? But trying to fuck us over?"

There was silence for a moment as the crowd of onlookers tried to decide between looking and staring at Lennox in disbelief or the three Autobots standing behind him. Finally, Optimus spoke, eyeing the mob carefully, as if examining them.

"I and my Autobot comrades can understand why some of you are upset," Optimus announced, "However, that should not mean that you resort to mob violence in an effort to fix whatever wounds you might have, whether they be physical or mental. Violence begets violence and killing the people who have been trying to protect you will only put you in a worse situation. For the last four years we have protected this planet from evils your kind has had little encounter with before. On two occasions these evil beings almost succeeded in destroying your race but I, my Autobot comrades and the humans working with us averted both potential disasters. If anything, you should be thankful. I can't make you all agree with this, as some of you have probably lost people close to you in the fighting. What I do know is that if you resort to barbaric acts of violence then you will simply destroy yourselves rather than make the situation any better."

There was a lengthy pause. James put away his Magnum revolver, able to breathe easy as the angry mob was beginning to disperse. Some people were seizing the opportunity to take photographs of the Autobots. Others simply stood where they were, mulling over what had been said or simply looking agape towards the three Autobots. Lennox seemed to calm down a little, turning to look at Optimus.

"Come on, Optimus," he said, "We're walking to the regrouping point." He started off down the street, with Epps following closely behind. James, Jones and Simmons began to follow and a short distance behind them the three Autobots began to walk, making sure to not step on any people below. They aided in pushing parked cars out of the way as the group went on to the meat packing facility further down the street. Along the way Lennox was voicing his dislike of there having been a disclosure to the public about the Cybertronians. However, they all agreed that covering up an attack of the magnitude as what had happened to Las Vegas would have been impossible.

* * *

Chromia was waiting in the grounds of the old meat packing facility when the group arrived, almost casually strolling through the main gate. NEST soldiers and vehicles were scattered around the grounds, most of the soldiers weary after the fighting the night before. An aid station had been set up in the meat packing facility where several wounded NEST soldiers were being treated. The Autobot Twins were arguing between themselves as usual, standing nearby and delivering all sorts of insults to each other. Jolt was sitting against the wall of the facility nearby, looking distant. Chromia had become unnerved by his seeming withdrawal, as if he no longer seemed interested in the war against the Decepticons. Jolt had apparently been feeling unwell recently, although Chromia could tell that there was something more. There was a glow in his eyes, one that had not been there before that only an Autobot as sensitive as Chromia could detect.

Firestar was standing a short distance behind Chromia, trying to patch herself up. The battle last night had taken a toll on all of them. Smokescreen had almost been captured by Sector Eight and his pride seemed more wounded than anything else. The motley gang of Autobots, each vastly different from the other, did not seem the same as it had before the deaths of Ironhide and Bumblebee. Depthcharge had been around for a short time and Chromia had known him back on Cybertron. To find out that he was dead, killed by Centurion was quite jarring. Then again, hearing about the deaths of Ironhide and Bumblebee had also hurt considerably. Breakaway's betrayal had hurt even more, although now Chromia could take some solace in the fact that she had found someone else. Though Ratchet was a bit of a pacifist, he had always been there for her when she had needed help, unlike Breakaway who had often been away. If this war ever did end, Chromia could see herself spending the rest of her days with Ratchet. The Autobot medic had always been the smartest, most rational of the bunch. Chromia could not help but admire that. It surprised her that she had forgotten about Breakaway so quickly: when she thought about it she reached the conclusion that since Breakaway had so often been away when she had needed him, Ratchet had been around instead. It made a strange sort of sense that she would fall back to him when times got tough, not that she could not look after herself or anything…

When Ratchet, Optimus and Sideswipe wandered into the grounds of the meatpacking plant, Chromia could not help but feel a wave of relief. To know that they were alright, that Ratchet was alright…It took a load off, especially after all that had happened the night before. Decepticons were bad enough, but humans with the technology to harm them could be just as bad. Especially when those humans had tried to capture them, rather than kill them. Whatever would happen to an Autobot in their care could very well be nasty.

Lennox and Epps wandered into the centre of the human soldiers who were hanging around, some sleeping where they could while others talked amongst themselves. With Lennox and Epps were three other humans, one who Chromia recognized as Simmons. The other two she did not recognize but Lennox soon introduced them to the other Autobots: James Turner and Jones Marshall, two humans who had been inadvertently dragged into the war between the Autobots and Decepticons.

Ratchet approached Chromia, looking somewhat relieved to see that she was alright.

"I'm glad to see you're okay," he said in his usual manner, "Although from what I've been hearing, you've gone through hell and back."

"Decepticons are one thing," Chromia replied, "But when you throw in some evil humans things get a bit complicated."

"Evil humans?" Ratchet paused for a moment, thinking. He had obviously not encountered the Sector Eight force that had been out and about the night before. "I suppose you're referring to the organization that refers to itself as 'Sector Eight'?"

"You bet I am," Chromia said, "They forced us to pull back. There were too many of them."

"I wouldn't get so worried about them," Ratchet said, almost confidently, "They're just misguided. They'll work out eventually that we're here to protect them and that the Decepticons are the enemy."

"Are you sure about that?" Chromia asked, her tone sceptical.

"No," Ratchet answered, giving the robotic equivalent of a grin, "But I like to think I'm right…"

Chromia playfully socked him in the shoulder.

"I bet you do," she said.

Nearby, Lennox, Epps, Simmons, James and Jones had grouped around a table. Jones held an icepack to his mouth, trying to ease the pain where he had been punched a few times.

"Simmons," Lennox said, turning to look at the ex-Sector Seven agent, "I think now's a good opportunity to explain what's been happening at your end. James, Jones…don't be shy to chip in when you want to. We need all the information we can get if we're ever going to locate Sam."

Some of the nearby NEST soldiers gathered around, as did most of the Autobots. Simmons and James began to speak about what had happened to them since they had been dragged into the situation, including what they believed was happening to Sam. James talked about how he had been captured by Centurion late the day before as had Sam and Jones, Simmons spoke about what had happened during their time in Las Vegas. Sector Eight was out to get Sam, as were the Decepticons. Sam and Deadeye had gone off and probably escaped the city, meaning that the Autobots and NEST would have to find them before either Sector Eight or the Decepticons did.

A tired and beaten Captain Graham Waters walked up to Lennox. At the same time, Optimus seemed to be distracted, his optics half-closed in concentration.

"What the hell happened to you last night?" Lennox asked, "You look like you've been beaten up…"

"You're looking no different," Graham replied. Lennox shrugged. They were all tired and bruised but they all new that their mission was not complete. They still needed to find Sam and Deadeye, something that was always getting more and more complications added to it.

"Seriously though, a whole lot of those bastards from Sector Eight showed up and began hammering our positions, some with conventional weapons, others with really high-tech stuff," Graham explained, "They even tried capturing Smokescreen, snaring him in a grappling line fired from a helicopter. I ordered everyone to fall back but we took plenty of casualties. I swear, those Sector Eight people don't care who they kill as long as they finish their mission…"

"The end justifies the means," James said, knowing the modus operandi of Colonel Weller only too well. That man would do anything to complete his objectives, even if it meant killing innocents.

"Exactly," Graham replied, "I got chased into a casino and I was forced to kill a few of the bastards. They had some real high-tech gear on, nothing like the high-tech stuff they get."

"That's because there are people in our own government funding those assholes," James interjected, "While your organization, NEST, gets all the shit stuff. Sector Eight doesn't follow common laws, which might explain why they have a hell of a lot more high-tech equipment than you guys do. Research that would be deemed too dangerous or unethical for NEST is accepted as 'necessary' by Colonel Weller."

"Mr. Turner, could you please not interrupt?" Lennox asked, "You, Jones and Simmons are only here because you got dragged into all of this. I'd suggest you three keep your mouths shut…"  
James sighed and shook his head.

"Typical," James said, glancing at Jones and Simmons, "As soon as they don't need us anymore the military dumps us. I should have expected as much."

"What we need to do is find Sam Witwicky and Deadeye," Lennox announced, "Things are more complicated now, not just because of the involvement of Sector Eight but because the public knows of our existence. Soon enough everyone in the civilized world is going to know about the Cybertronians and I think we're going to face a lot of snags because of it."

"You couldn't keep it secret for much longer," James said. Lennox ignored him. Optimus, and the other hand, suddenly looked down at the humans with increasing purpose.

"Lennox," he said, his voice laced with urgency, "I've been able to track down my son's…I mean, _Deadeye's_ life energy signature."

Lennox looked up, realizing what this meant.

"I thought you said earlier that you couldn't find him?"

"There are ways for us to disguise our signatures and remain off of the more longer range scanners our kind has," Optimus explained, "However, it seems that my son has stopped disguising his signature, almost as if…"

"…he wants to be found," Epps finished.

"If I can detect him, so can the Decepticons," Optimus continued, "We have to get to him before they do. Sam Witwicky could be with him."

"But why would he reveal himself like that?" Graham asked, sounding doubtful, "Wouldn't he just try and find us instead?"

"Maybe something's happened," Lennox said, his tone level. This seemed the most logical conclusion, as it should have been fairly simple for Deadeye to come to NEST rather than the other way around. Something had definitely gone wrong.

"Alright," Lennox said, looking at the soldiers grouped around him, "We're moving out in the next fifteen minutes. Optimus, you can guide us to Deadeye. I'll send out a request for back-up." He turned to James, Jones and Simmons. "You three, on the other hand, are to wait here for pick-up. There'll be a chopper coming by to take you to Diego Garcia for debriefing…"

"Debriefing?" James scrunched up his ageing features in annoyance. "I did not come this far just to be sent off because I'm not needed anymore! I need to see this through…"

"I'm happy to leave," Jones interrupted. James ignored him and continued while Simmons listened from behind, trying to work out where he sat on the matter.

"You're a civilian and you have no place in an official military operation," Lennox said. The other soldiers were heading off now, beginning to pack things away as they prepared to move out. Epps stood nearby, taking a water bottle out of a nearby footlocker and downing its contents quickly.

"I won't slow you down," James said. He was determined to see this through, to find out if Sam was alright…He needed to know. He wanted to help.

"I know you won't," Lennox said, "Because you're going to be at Diego Garcia enjoying NEST hospitality." The Major had been through a lot in the last forty-eight hours and he was not in the mood to argue. Already the sound of an incoming helicopter could be heard.

"You bastard," James said, "I told you everything I knew…And now you're sending us away? Just because we're civilians?"

"Civilians with no purpose to serve in a proper military operation," Lennox said, "So you can argue all you want but you're going on that helicopter, whether you like it or not…even if I have to knock you out and carry you on board."

James seemed to take this as a threat. Lennox cared little about what the old priest thought, having too much else on his mind.

"I'd like to see you try! I'd like—"

James was silenced when Simmons put a hand on his shoulder. Simmons seemed resigned, shaking his head as if he was surprised by his own actions as well.

"Come on James," Simmons said, "There's no use arguing. He's got the right to knock you out and send you away, so there's no point in starting trouble."

"But…"

"I think we've done enough," Simmons continued, "They'll handle it from here. We'll just get in the way."

"We won't get in the way," James said, but the resignation was evident in his voice. Sighing, he shook his head and began to walk away. Simmons followed and Jones, after feeling a pang of guilt over what had just happened, followed after the pair. Lennox watched as a NEST helicopter touched down nearby, trying his best to keep his eyes open. Damn, he felt tired. Still, he had a job to do and he was not about to turn his back on it just to get some sleep. He started for the meat packing building itself, where the aid station and radio control centre had been set up. He knew they would need backup for the upcoming mission and he hoped to God that they could get it. Somehow he doubted it though, not after the mess that had been made of Las Vegas.


	23. Am I Not Human?

**Am I Not Human?  
**Twin Falls, Idaho  
December 17th, 2010

If anything, Sam Witwicky certainly felt different. Even as he drifted into consciousness he was aware of a certain overall feeling of change across his body. His eyes…No, they were not quite "eyes" anymore. They were optics: red Cybertronian optics, complete with a heads-up display which gave readings in Cybertronian. It was startling that he could understand it, as if Cybertronian was a fluent second language for him. He stared straight up at a bright light fixture in the ceiling above, his optics adjusting to compensate for the glare. As his memory returned he started to become aware of the differences across his form: before he had been knocked unconscious at least half of him had still be human but rapidly changing. Now, though…Nothing was human. Fear struck through him as he realized this, frantically trying to take a look down at himself. He went to move his arms but found that they were tightly bound, as were his legs and the rest of his body.

He did tilt his head down to look at himself, feeling a wave of fear when he saw what had become of him: everything about him was Cybertronian in appearance. He carried black and grey plating across most of his form, full of intricate designs much like a Cybertronian would have. He flexed the fingers on both of his hands and found that his new form felt just as real as his previous human one had. His legs were heavily plated and contoured while his feet had only two thick metal toes on each. A blue haze could be seen at his chest, seeping from behind a pair of closely linked plates. A conspicuous amount of blood stained the bench he was tied down to while a large black device hung in the ceiling ahead, with a set of electrodes aimed straight at him. They looked nasty and he tried not to think about what they were for.

What had happened to bring him here? For a moment his mind was blank but as he thought about it the memories came flooding back. He had been with Deadeye and had still some human parts to him. They had escaped Las Vegas across the desert, only to be ambushed and captured by Colonel Weller and his Sector Eight forces. Sam remembered getting struck by some sort of stun weapon before being knocked out. And now he was here, no longer human and very, very scared. This fear increased tenfold when he took a look around at his immediate surroundings.

He was in a laboratory; there was no doubt about that. There was an observation window to his left, mirrored on this side but it was obvious that the people on the other side of it could see into the lab. Indignation washed over Sam as he realized that the heartless people who had captured him had probably been observing and studying him for as long as he had been unconscious. He hated them, he hated Colonel Weller…He just wanted to get out of here, to find Deadeye and to escape. There were a couple of benches nearby and a decontamination chamber visible through a set of glass doors to his right. Jets of spraying chemicals doused whoever stepped through, as if Sam was some sort of biohazard risk. Well, he had no idea whether he was or not. His condition could very well have been contagious for all he knew, although he doubted that.

So much had happened in the last twenty-four hours, culminating in the situation he found himself in now: alone and in hostile custody, no longer human. The pain he had been feeling as he had slowly transformed into the Cybertronian form he was now had gone, hinting that the changes were over. There was stainless steel cabinet on the wall nearby and he looked at the reflection it provided: his face was no longer human. Both eyes were red Cybertronian optics, there was no nose and he had jagged metal teeth in his mouth. Plates and contours in the metal of his face provided some means of showing emotion and right now he had creased his metallic features into an angered but fearful look. There was no way in hell the process was reversible, no way he could get help now. The transformation was finished and he would spend the rest of his days as a…

A what? Was he really Cybertronian or some sort of weird hybrid? How long did Cybertronians live for anyway? He remembered once that Optimus had mentioned that he had been around for a few hundred thousand years. As appealing as long life had sounded, Sam would have preferred to live it out as a human. Besides, was he an Autobot or a Decepticon? There was no insignia anywhere on him and the only hint that he may have been a Decepticon were the optics and the presence he could feel in his mind, the dark one. His mind had been altered, this much he knew, if he could read and understand Cybertronian. He was even more worried about the influential Decepticon presence in his mind, the one that was simply a far eviller version of himself. He had to fight its influence or at the very least control it.

_Change form,_ it told him, _escape and kill everyone in your way. You have the power._

Sam remembered what he had done to escape Colonel Weller's clutches before, how he had transformed his right arm into an energy cannon. He looked at his arm and was dismayed to find two cables were attached to his arm, both hooked up to some machine nearby that was complete with signs warning of high voltage. Other machines monitored his life signs and changes in the radiation levels he emitted. All of these would tell who was keeping him here whether he was about to transform or not. There was no doubt in his mind that Sector Eight had the ability to prevent him from transforming. Even so, he tried to concentrate on his right arm in order to change it into weapon mode again. There was a sudden high-pitched beeping from the machine connected to that arm and a powerful but agonizing jolt of electricity flowed through one of the cables and into his arm.

He went to scream but it came out as a metallic squeal. The pain was over within seconds. He fell silent, his arm aching and his vision going momentarily hazy before it recovered. It seemed that Colonel Weller had taken every precaution to ensure he could not escape by transforming. Even if he tried to struggle, using his superior strength to break free of his straps there was still a chance that one of the machines he was hooked up to would simply shock him again and immobilize him.

_The power of the Matrix of Leadership is yours to command,_ the Decepticon voice told him, _use it. Drain the energy of those machines for yourself!_

Sam was unsure on just what the Decepticon presence in his mind was telling him. Even as he concentrated he could not find any semblance of any special abilities his exposure to the Matrix of Leadership could have given him, save for his obvious transforming skills. Another one of the machines began to beep and another powerful shock hit him, this time straight into his chest where his life-spark was. The pain was excruciating and it lasted a few seconds, sending Sam into uncontrollable spasms that only died down after a minute. He tried to breathe but remembered that he did not need to: he was Cybertronian and Cybertronians did not need air. They did not even have lungs. It would take a while to get used to some of the changes he had undergone, as well as get over those human instinctive urges.

Thinking about instinct, he remembered something important. Ever so slightly he moved himself up the bench, enabling him to look down at himself and find…He almost went into shock. Whatever evidence of human sex organs he may have had had disappeared. It made sense but it also made him scared. It was prime evidence that he was not human anymore and that he would never be again.

"Why?" He muttered to himself, his voice coming across as somewhat raspy and metallic. He laid back down, trying to wrap his head around the full extent of the situation. No human parts of him were left save for his mind and even that seemed to be in jeopardy. For once he felt he would have to communicate with the Decepticon part of his mind. He still had his imagination, something that helped manifest his thoughts when he shut his optics and began to think.

The Decepticon presence of his mind appeared by his side as a much darker, dirtier and far more intimidating version of how he was now. It seemed to gaze down at him with contempt. Sam opened his optics and met its gaze, thinking that he was hallucinating despite the fact that Decepticon Sam looked very real.

"_You are weak,"_ it spat. Sam had a feeling that if he was going to survive what had happened to him, he would need complete control of his mental state of mind.

"And you are?" He asked. Decepticon Sam narrowed its gaze in contempt.

"_I'm you,"_ it replied matter-of-factly, _"Or what you will become."_

Sam felt anger when he heard this. What he will become? There was no way he was going to become anything like what he could see in his mind's eye now.

"You're not me," Sam croaked, keeping his voice level, "You never existed until I started to change."

"_You fail to understand me, which is typical for a human…Or should I say, a _former_ human?"_ Decepticon Sam was taunting him now, a smug but malevolent gaze crossing his metal features. _"You are naïve. You can't stop yourself from becoming like me. I'm your destiny. The power of the Matrix of Leadership has endowed you with many abilities, you simply have to discover how to use them."_

"I don't think I'll ever need to do that," Sam replied, "Not if it means I'll end up like you." He was determined to ensure that this dark side of himself never did take over, although there was a part of him that seriously doubted his success with this plan.

"_Oh, but you will,"_ Decepticon Sam smiled again. It was unnerving. Sam had the urge to lash out and punch the bastard but then he realized that he would either punch air or hurt himself. Technically and as much as he hated to admit it, Decepticon Sam was a part of him. Everyone had their dark side, Sam's had just become more prominent after the transformation had finished.

"_When the time comes, you'll know how to work your abilities and inevitably the power will consume you,"_ Decepticon Sam continued, _"With power comes ambition. With ambition comes greed and with greed comes corruption. As Breakaway become corrupted by Slipstream, you will become corrupt by the power of the Matrix of Leadership. Maybe not now, maybe not for some time but eventually you will discover your true potential."_

Sam found it surprising that his darker self was delivering such wise sounding sentiments. Decepticon Sam kept that unnerving metallic grin on his face as he looked down at Sam.

"_In the end, Sam, you'll discover much more about yourself than you would have if you had not been exposed to the Matrix of Leadership,"_ Decepticon Sam said.

Suddenly, the doors of the decontamination chamber slid open. Sam turned to look that way, only realizing a few seconds later that Decepticon Sam had vanished. The words his darker self had delivered made a chilling sort of sense but at the same time they warned him: they warned him about the powers he apparently had, how he should not let them get the better of him. Sam was determined to show that darker version of himself that he was capable of remaining good and uncorrupted. However, it was obvious that Decepticon Sam was hoping for the opposite. That way Sam in the real world would become Decepticon Sam and then…

Well, Sam did not really have a chance to put much thought into the matter. His attention was diverted to the familiar man who had walked into the lab, emerging from the decontamination chamber. It was Colonel Weller, looking no different from the last time Sam had seen him. A cigar was jutting from one corner of the Colonel's mouth, its end glowing as it burned and emitted a thin wisp of smoke. The Colonel stopped a short distance from where Sam lay, removing the cigar from his mouth with one hand while scrutinizing there former human with a careful gaze.

Sam remained silent, unwilling to give the Colonel the satisfaction of hearing him speak. Rather, Sam wanted to hear what the Colonel had to say, if anything. He doubted that Colonel Weller would be willing to divulge much information about recent goings-on, such as where Deadeye was and what Sector Eight was doing to him. Sam remembered what Sector Seven had done with Bumblebee when they had captured the Autobot, subjecting him to some sort of electric shock treatment while freezing him with nitrogen. Sam assumed that much the same was being done to Deadeye.

"Who were you talking to, son?" Weller asked, raising an eyebrow. "We've been watching you on the cameras and for a while there it looked like you were talking to someone who wasn't there. Would you care to elaborate?"

"No," Sam said simply. Weller frowned, rolling his cigar between two of the fingers of his right hand. He scrutinized Sam some more before stepping over to a medical trolley and picking up a large bone-saw. Sam saw the Colonel grab it and immediately tensed. There was no telling what the Colonel might do to him but there seemed little other choice but to lie where he was and await the pain.

"You know what's fascinating, Sam?" Weller asked. He expected an answer but Sam gave none. Unperturbed, Weller continued speaking. "It's fascinating how, once we knocked you unconscious, the transformation accelerated. It's finished now, there's no doubt about that. But it finished within the five hours you were unconscious, as if you being awake had been slowing it down."

Five hours? Sam could hardly believe it. He had been unconscious for _that_ long? Where the hell was he anyway? There were no windows and a ventilation grill in the ceiling. He was obviously in some sort of facility, perhaps an underground one.

"Our scientists worked over you for a while, running tests and cleaning up the humans bits of you that had fallen off," Weller continued, "It was quite a disgusting mess, let me tell you that. Tests have confirmed that while you were changing your Cybertronian parts were keeping you alive while your human parts were either converted or rejected. You puked your intestines out at that restaurant in Las Vegas but you were still alive after that. That's because your Cybertronian parts kept you alive and kicking and gave you the equivalent of a Cybertronian digestive system. You feed off of energon now and from our calculations you're going to be alive for a very long time."

Sam lay still and listened, unsure about just what point the Colonel was trying to make. What he said was certainly interesting, about how Sam had remained alive despite losing some vital organs. Sam did not like the idea of being stuck in captivity for a few hundred thousand years, although he figured that he ought to have been grateful: no human had ever lived for that long. Then again, he was not human anymore. Far from it, in fact.

"I suppose you're wondering about my part in all that's happened," Weller said. He put a hand on Sam's left arm, holding it down. Weller stuck his cigar back into his mouth and brought the bone-saw down onto Sam's arm. Immediately the former human began to struggle but a shock of electricity from one of the machines was enough to stop him in his tracks. Carefully, Weller began to saw a Sam's arm but the saw itself seemed unable to cut through the hardened metal shell. It scratched only the surface but did not break through. Satisfied, Weller let go of Sam's left arm and put the saw away. He looked fascinated, this much was evident from the curious gaze he was making.

"I'm here to ensure the protection of the human race," Weller went on, "Autobots, Decepticons, Constructicons…They're a threat to humanity. All of them. They brought their little war to our planet, they've killed innocent people. I'm doing whatever it takes to get rid of them. All of them. And you're going to help."

Sam kept his gaze neutral but deep down he could not help but feel anger towards the Colonel. The man was complaining about innocent people dying, yet he had killed innocents before (according to what Simmons had told him earlier). Sector Eight went along the lines of "the end justifies the means", using it as an excuse to get rid of everyone who got in the way of their ultimate goal. Colonel Weller was a bit of a hypocrite, but he was one who obviously seriously believed in the cause he was following.

"You contain the power of the Matrix of Leadership," Weller said, "And that power is required to work the Spear of Destiny, which in turn is needed to operate the alien ruins we found in Venezuela."

Sam was momentarily confused by all of this talk: Spear of Destiny? Venezuela? Weller noticed Sam's look of confusion and smiled.

"You'll find out what I'm talking about soon enough," Weller assured, "Now though, I just thought I'd give you the rundown on what's going to happen."

"Where's Deadeye?"

"Your Autobot friend is in our custody," Weller said, "Soon enough he'll be the first live test subject for a little something we cooked up for all the other Cybertronians."

"Why? Why do this?" Sam hissed, pushing against the straps that restrained him on the bench. "The Autobots are our friends, they're trying to protect humanity…"

"They're just as guilty for harming human life as the Decepticons are," Weller said.

"So what? You're going to kill them all?"

"Why not?" Weller shrugged. "What difference will it make? Autobots, Decepticons…They're all the same. They're all not from this fucking planet. They were never welcome here and we're going to either kill them or send them on their way."

"And you're going to kill any human that gets in your way?" Sam could hardly believe what Weller was planning to do. He was obviously mentally unstable, if the look in his eyes was anything to go by.

"Not if they get out of our way," Weller replied, "Which I'm hoping they will, as it will make everything else easier."

"You're a monster."

"One man's monster is another man's messiah," Weller countered. He seemed almost casual about it, as if he was admitting that he was a monster.

There was a lengthy silence. Weller began to pace by the side of the bench where Sam was strapped down. He stopped after about half a minute, dubbing out the cigar on the metal plating on Sam's chest. It left a little ashen black mark but otherwise no damage or pain was caused.

"Now, Sam, there's a few things I want to make clear to you," Weller said, satisfied that the silence had gone on long enough between them, "If you were human still I may have felt some connection to you. The thing is, you clearly are _not_ human anymore. You ain't even a fucking animal. That means you aren't entitled to the same rights a normal human being would be entitled to. You haven't _got_ any rights. That means I can do what I want with you, I can make you do what I want you to do…You're the same as the Cybertronians I'm trying to get rid of. The only reason I don't kill you now is because I need you. Sector Eight needs you. We need you to help us gain access to the ruins in Venezuela where it's suggested, a powerful ancient alien device is located. And by ancient we're talking millions of years old…"

Sam was once again determined to ensure that Weller would not have his way. Part of him was resigned to his fate but the other part of him wanted to fight this man, this monster…perhaps even kill him where he stood. Sam doubted he would have the guts to kill again but that Decepticon presence in his mind thought otherwise.

_The first opportunity you get, kill him. Kill him and all of his fucking Sector Eight goons._

"I'm not going to help you," Sam spat, seething with hatred, "No fucking way."

"I was expecting you to say that, through some misguided sense of resistance to this organization's cause," Weller replied. He shook his head slowly, looking down at Sam with an almost pitiful look. This look unnerved Sam somewhat.

"Do you know where you are, Sam?" Weller asked. He gestured to their surroundings. Sam shook his head in response.

"You're in a biological weapons research facility in Twin Falls, Idaho. You know what they used to do here?" Weller looked down at Sam for an answer but received none. Regardless, he continued. "They used to research and develop all manner of nasties: ebola, anthrax, hanta. It was until some years ago that the place was decommissioned after it was discovered that some extremist group was funding the research here to create some super strain of the ebola virus for use in some terrorist attacks. Fortunately, the government ended that operation and prevented an epidemic. It's amazing, what the government hides from people." He held his left hand up, putting his thumb and forefinger mere centimetres apart. "We were _this_ close to having an ebola epidemic on our hands. I was part of the team that thwarted this terrorist plot. In fact, I liked this facility so much I made sure that it was still running, even when the government thought it was decommissioned. It became a Sector Seven research facility where research into a biological means of combating the Cybertronians was being conducted. And it fell into Sector Eight's hands shortly after Sector Seven was closed down, all thanks to you."

Sam could tell that Weller was simply trying to scare him. All of this talk about deadly diseases and so forth was just so Weller could strike fear into Sam, make him more susceptible to the organization's demands. Sam would have none of it.

"And do you know what I can do, Sam?" Weller asked. "Do you know that if I felt inclined to, I could start a hanta epidemic right on Diego Garcia if I wanted to? Get rid of NEST in a subtle, but effective way? Fortunately, I'm not a real believer in the use of biological agents on humans. On Cybertronians, on the other hand…It's alright. That's why we have Deadeye: he's going to be a test subject for our latest attempt to synthesize a compound capable of breaking down the Cybertronian genetic makeup. From what I know, they have thirty chromosomes and a triple helix strand of DNA and are chemical based life-forms. Sure, such a biological agent will lead any unfortunate Cybertronian infected with it to a rather horrific death but it certainly beats wasting bullets on them, don't you think?"  
Sam knew he had to save Deadeye. Wherever the Autobot was, he knew he would have to reach him somehow. In fact, escape was something that had worked its way to his top priority. How he would carry it out, though, was another matter altogether.

"You're a sick man," Sam said.

"I've been told that before," Weller replied, "It's just those who tell me it don't know what I know and don't see things the way I do. Do you know how I got started in this whole business? How I became involved in killing aliens?"

"How?"

"My granddaddy was a British paratrooper in the Second World War," Weller explained, "I remember visiting him in the nursing home when he was an old man, about how he spoke about encountering a 'robot man' from outer space during the battle for Arnhem, back in 1944. My granddaddy never recovered after that encounter, becoming increasingly senile and delusional until he died of a heart attack in 1979. He had an American wife, that's why I grew up here in the United States. When I was a young man and I listened to his stories about two warring alien robots fighting each other in Arnhem, I became interested in aliens and all the conspiracy theories that surrounded them. That's what lead me into this line of work. Now, not only have I encountered aliens in the form of the Cybertronians but I'm working on killing them as well. The ultimate service to humanity."

He paused for a moment, eyeing Sam with another scrutinizing gaze.

"How about you? You want to help us do the ultimate service to humanity by wiping out the Cybertronians?"

"Fuck you," Sam spat, "I'm not helping you."

"Oh, I beg to differ with you on that subject," Weller replied, shaking his head almost pityingly. Sam looked at him, trying to work out what he could be thinking and about to say next.

"Your parents, Sam, do you know where they are?"

Sam felt a sting at his life-spark. He assumed it was the equivalent of his heart skipping a beat.

"My parents…They're in San Francisco visiting relatives…"

"They _were_ in San Francisco visiting relatives," Weller corrected, "You gotta get those tenses right, Sam."

"What?" Sam did not really want to know what Weller had done with them but it was inevitable that the man tell him anyway. This was beginning to get to be a bit too much: first the transformation, then his capture and now his parents were in danger?

"Your parents are currently residing in a contained holding cell in this very facility," Weller said, "I can have an airborne and rather potent variant of the hanta virus pumped into that cell at a moment's notice. So, I suggest you reconsider helping me. Unless, of course, you want to watch your parents die…"

Sam clenched his fingers into a fist, pushing against the straps that bound him. Another shock rippled through his body and he groaned, trying to control the rage that was threatening to spill out of him. Weller had his parents? He had to rescue them, he had to kill that bastard Weller…What pissed him off even more was how vulnerable and powerless he had become.

"I've made sure the scientists took precautions to ensure you couldn't escape," Weller said, seeing Sam struggling against the straps that held him down, "So I'd quit trying, if I were you."

"You're a bastard!" Sam shouted at him, the metallic grind that backgrounded his voice all the more noticeable. "My parents have nothing to do with this! Let them go!"

"It's not only your parents," Weller continued, almost casually as he took a few puffs on his cigar, "It's your girlfriend as well. Mikaela, I believe her name is? She's around here somewhere…Perhaps in another cell? Or perhaps I could bring her in, get her to look at how much her boyfriend has changed?"

"Fuck you!" Sam could feel the rage building inside him. More electric shocks were going through him but each one became less painful than the last.

"Calm down, Sam," Weller replied, "I can understand you're upset. That's why I think you should cooperate with me, help Sector Eight complete its quest to remove the Cybertronians from Earth and ensure the survival of the human race. What do you think?"

"We'll see…" Sam said through clenched teeth.

_Bide your time,_ Decepticon Sam said from a dark corner of his mind, _And when you get the chance, break his neck._

"I'll give you some time to think about it," Weller said. He turned to leave, managing one last look back at Sam before stepping through the glass automatic doors into the decontamination chamber and disappearing from view.

Sam lay still, clenching his fingers into fists and back again. He needed to get out of here and find his parents as well as Mikaela. That Colonel Weller was a sick bastard, especially since he was threatening to kill the people closest to Sam with a super flu virus. Sam had only heard a little about the hanta virus: it could send someone through all the stages of an ordinary flu virus within twenty-four hours before they began to feel better, only for the victim to drown in their own fluids a short time later. Hell, the one Weller had prepared to pump into his parent's and Mikaela's cells was probably twice as potent.

Sam remained lying where he was, with only that dark presence in his mind as company. It was not much, especially since it kept telling him to try and discover his new abilities. Sam did not want that power, not if it meant he would become just like that dark, Decepticon presence in his mind was. Even so, the allure of power was tempting and if he could control both the abilities and the Decepticon presence he may be able to use them to his advantage. He would need all the power he could get to break out of this place and rescue his parents and his girlfriend.

**Author's Note:** The whole idea of this biological research facility came from my recent play-through of the very first _Rainbow Six_ game. The next chapter may not come for a while, I'm still deciding on whether to simply get on with this story right away or leave it on hiatus for a while.


	24. Planning

**Planning  
**Twin Falls, Idaho  
December 17th, 2010

It was about late morning, perhaps ten or eleven o'clock. The weather in Twin Falls, Idaho was somewhat gloomy: ominous grey clouds hung high overhead, blotting out the sun while the stench of moisture was thick in the air. It would rain and probably snow, as it was indeed winter. The Sector Eight facility was nestled outside of the town of Twin Falls, hidden in a valley and surrounded by forest. Armed guards patrolled the perimeter and more stood guard near the few large buildings that took up the compound, including a pair of large warehouse-type structures. Most of the facility itself ran underground, this much was obvious. Though unassuming on the outside, the facility contained plenty of secrets.

Breakaway stood on a hill some distance away, hidden from view amongst the forest. The human facility was visible through the tree-line while his scanners had little trouble in taking readings, counting the amount of human guards, determining what weapons they carried and so forth. Slipstream stood nearby, walking up behind Breakaway and running a hand down one of his shoulders. Her touch was warm, tingling almost…Never had Breakaway been so entranced with a fellow Cybertronian. Then again, Slipstream was no ordinary Cybertronian. She was the daughter of Centurion, after all. And Centurion was certainly powerful.

Shifting his attention away from the human facility, Breakaway turned around and caught Slipstream's hands into his own. They had a mission here, ordered to it by Centurion. Sam Witwicky had been taken into the facility, as had the Autobot Deadeye. It was imperative they get Sam alive, as well as the artefact the leader of the humans at the facility apparently had in his possession. Centurion had not supplied much in the way of details, although Sam did contain the power of the Matrix of Leadership. As such, he did have the power to resurrect fallen Cybertronians. That meant he would be perfect to raise the unborn army of Decepticons on board the Decepticon ship _Nemesis_, which had since moved into position on the dark side of Earth's moon.

Centurion's plans mattered little to Breakaway, nor Slipstream for that matter. They were both plotting to get rid of Centurion and claim whatever power he was after for themselves, maybe even rule over Earth and spread their influence to Cybertron once this was all over. Centurion would never suspect one of his own offspring, his daughter Slipstream, of trying to kill him.

To think that Breakaway had once been with the Autobots…it annoyed him. He had wasted his talents as a Seeker in their ranks. Slipstream had made him see the light and had saved him from the brink of death at the hands of the massive Decepticon known as Tidal Wave. Compound this with her obvious attraction to him and there was no way Breakaway could resist Slipstream. She was persuasive, influential, seductive…All the sorts of things that Breakaway had liked in other Cybertronians.

"My father wishes to get the Spear of Destiny and Sam Witwicky," Slipstream said, her optics meeting with Breakaway's, "Those are both required to access the power that my father has been searching for. The Spear of Destiny acts as the key whereas Sam Witwicky, containing the power of the Matrix of Leadership, has the power of actually getting the Spear to function."

Breakaway was not quite interested in all of this. Rather, he wanted to have a proper conversation with Slipstream and not discuss whatever plans they had to carry out.

"I was thinking," Breakaway began, as confident as he always was, "When we have been successful in gaining this 'power' your father seeks, we could consider having offspring…"  
Slipstream seemed to crease her metallic features into a frown, if only briefly.

"Now is not the time for discussing that," she said sternly, releasing her grip on Breakaway's hands, "Now we must do as my father says and wait for the right opportunity to strike."

"I don't care about that, not now," Breakaway replied, somewhat disheartened by Slipstream's stern attitude. He was trying to have a deeper conversation with her, something they had not been able to do in the last twenty hours, not with all that had happened in Tranquility and Las Vegas.

"I want to know: Do you want offspring?"

"I love you, Breakaway, you know that," Slipstream said, "But offspring…now isn't the best time to be discussing that. If my father were to find out about what was between us, he may kill you. I don't want that to happen…"

There was a noise from somewhere nearby and static washed over both Breakaway's and Slipstream's view. Out of the trees walked Centurion, as tall and imposing as ever. He was followed by Megatron who looked as grumpy as he always did.

"It's a shame I already know about you two, isn't it?" He said, a malevolent grin crossing his face. Breakaway felt a wave of fear as Centurion paced towards him, grabbing the ex-Autobot by the throat. He lifted him up with ease, Centurion's shield burning into Breakaway's neck.

Megatron watched passively while a frightened look crossed Slipstream's face.

"How about I rip off his head?" Centurion asked aloud and to no one in particular, grinning wildly. Breakaway struggled against his grip, realizing that this situation felt oddly familiar.

"Father, stop!" Slipstream shouted, turning to look at Centurion.

"You're not worthy for my daughter, Breakaway!" Centurion exclaimed angrily, throwing the rogue Autobot aside. Breakaway knocked over some trees and came to rest a short distance away, his neck burning from where Centurion had gripped it.

Slipstream ran over to where Breakaway lay, helping him up. Centurion had turned his right arm into its weapon mode, the energy cannon's barrel glowing a blue-white. He had it aimed squarely at Breakaway, the look on his face a definite indication that he wanted to blow the rogue Autobot away.

"You're a traitor, first to the Autobots, then to me and then to the Autobots again! You may as well not take any side since you change it so often!" Centurion stepped towards Breakaway, putting the barrel of his arm cannon against the Autobot's head. Breakaway closed his optics, awaiting the inevitable. Either that or Centurion was simply messing with him.

"I took the time to eavesdrop on your little conversation," Centurion continued, "You want to have children with my daughter? _My daughter?_ A traitorous piece of scum like you wants children with my daughter? That is insulting, not only to me but to Slipstream as well!"

"Father," Slipstream began, her gaze narrowed, "If it were not for me Breakaway would not have seen the error of his ways, he would not have joined forces with us. Instead, he would have died at the hands of that behemoth, Tidal Wave. If it were not for me, there would be no relationship between the two of us. _I _am attracted to Breakaway, it was _me_ who initiated the first encounter. If you're going to shoot anyone, let it be me."  
Breakaway opened his optics, unable to quite believe what he was hearing.

"What the hell are you doing, Slipstream?" He asked, unable to keep the disbelief out of his voice, "Do you think he cares you're his daughter? He won't hesitate in shooting you!"

Centurion pointed his arm cannon at Slipstream, considering the notion of blowing away his own daughter. After a moment, he lowered the cannon and simply shook his head. It might have been the first hint of a conscience under his ruthless exterior, but whatever it was it was gone in an instant: instead, he started to laugh. He cackled madly, as if what had just happened was the funniest thing in the world. His laughter echoed throughout the valley and he kept it up for at least a minute while Breakaway, Slipstream and Megatron simply watched him with uncertainty.

Slowly, Breakaway rose to his feet. He brushed some of the dirt off of his form and tried to compose himself. Centurion stopped laughing, returning his gaze to Breakaway.

"You may have won favour with my daughter," Centurion said, "But if anything happens to her, I will make you accountable. That means if she dies, _you_ die." He poked Breakaway in the chest forcefully, instilling a slight sense of dread into the rogue. It was blatantly clear that Centurion had no suspicions about his daughter planning to kill him, or of Breakaway's part in the scheme.

Centurion returned his right arm from its weapon mode back to its normal mode. Megatron was eyeing Breakaway suspiciously and the ex-Autobot only just noticed this, feeling a tad uneasy under the Decepticon's gaze.

"Would you have really shot me, father?" Slipstream asked, getting Centurion's attention.

"No," Centurion replied, "I would never kill one of my own offspring. Even I would not stoop to that level."

_Yeah, right, sure you wouldn't_, Breakaway thought absently. Centurion was certainly unpredictable. He may say something, only to completely contradict himself a few minutes later. How someone who was clearly mentally unstable had gained such a following was beyond Breakaway's comprehension.

"Unless, of course, they tried to kill _me_," Centurion added. Slipstream tensed noticeably but it was clear that Centurion was only joking. He chuckled, hardly noticing the way Breakaway and Slipstream exchanged glances. Megatron was obviously plotting what they were and seemed to eye them both, counting them as competition for whatever sort of power Centurion was searching for.

"Otherwise, we should get down to the business of the day," Centurion said with a grin, "Tell me, Slipstream: Have you and Breakaway discovered anything interesting about the human facility?"

Slipstream composed herself and began to speak. Breakaway rubbed the burnt patches at his neck, shaking his head. This whole situation with Centurion was becoming increasingly dangerous. Every confrontation they had brought the madman one step closer to killing him.

"The humans here appear to be of the same sort that were under the command of the human known as 'Colonel Weller'," Slipstream explained, "The uniforms match to those Weller's humans wore in Las Vegas. However, if the Spear of Destiny and Sam Witwicky are here then the humans are shielding the energy signatures."

"It's likely they know that we're after them," Centurion replied, "But it shan't make a difference. Unicron has guided us all here today and I am certain that today will be the day we complete our crusade to free him. The human facility in that valley is the key. It contains Sam Witwicky and the Matrix of Leadership, this much is for certain."

Breakaway remained silent, listening to Centurion's almost in-awe tone as he spoke about Unicron. It was obvious Centurion saw this megalomaniacal being as a God, something that only further hinted at its dangerous nature.

"I say we quit wasting time and strike now!" Megatron said, determined. He put slammed his fist into his open other hand in a "let's crush them" manner.

"These Sector Eight humans are smart and resourceful," Centurion said, "We cannot simply attack and expect to crush them easily. No, we need a plan of approach."

"What do you suggest?" Breakaway asked.

"You, Slipstream and Prometheus will attack the facility, as will I," Centurion said, "However, Megatron will take the others to attack the human bases on Diego Garcia…"

"What?" Megatron certainly sounded annoyed. "Diego Garcia? That is where NEST has its headquarters…"

"And that is where most of the Autobots will be," Centurion replied, turning to face Megatron, "While we are working to take the Spear and Witwicky from the Sector Eight facility, you, Megatron, shall be leading a small attack force to completely obliterate the NEST base of operations."

Megatron seemed to calm down when he heard that he would be leading the attack. Breakaway could tell that Centurion knew how to tend to the Decepticon's ego.

"It will be heavily defended," Megatron said.

"I know," Centurion replied, "That is why I have prepared a little something to ensure the final phases of our plan are carried out with as little interference from the humans as possible." He reached into a compartment at his thigh, pulling out a small blue-white crystal. He slipped it into Megatron's hands, inciting the fellow Decepticon to examine the crystal carefully.

"Contained within the data crystal is a computer virus capable of taking down the human global communications network," Centurion said, "It will make them effectively blind. They will have no radios, no microwave transmissions, no working satellites…Nothing. Simply give it to Soundwave and have him upload it into a human satellite. From there it will spread into nearly every networked computer on the planet."

Megatron creased his metallic features into a frown.

"Why did you not give me this sooner?" He asked, "It would have made things easier much earlier on…"

"I only completed the programming today," Centurion answered, "It takes time to create that sort of thing. With it, we shall render the human militaries virtually useless as they will be unable to effectively communicate and thus coordinate their moves. We will have free reign."

It was obvious that Centurion had been preparing this plan for a while. The signs of preparation were all there, he had simply been waiting for the best opportunity to bring in the computer virus…

"My Decepticons tried a similar thing in 2007 during their efforts to find me," Megatron said, "The humans were able to work around it…"

"I know what happened and I can tell you, Megatron, that your Decepticons went about it in an inefficient manner. The Autobots themselves have since programmed protocols into the NEST network to ensure that it does not happen again. Thanks to information Jolt gave us, I was able to program a means around these protocols and render them useless.

"Once we have the Witwicky boy, we will take him to the _Nemesis_ and use him to raise the unborn Decepticon army on board," Centurion continued, "And once we have the Spear we shall be able to access the ruins in Venezuela. Hopefully by the time we do that the Autobots will be all dead."

"I'll make sure of that," Megatron said, tucking away the data crystal.

"I'm sure you will," Centurion said, although he did not sound convinced. He was obviously just trying to rile up Megatron as he often seemed to do and enjoy doing.

"The Sector Eight humans also have Deadeye in their custody," Slipstream said, gaining Centurion's attention, "I just thought you would like to know…"

"When we find Deadeye," Centurion said, "He is to be sent straight to me. He and I have a lot of catching up to do."

"You wish to kill him?" Megatron asked, "But he is the Prime's son. We could use him to our advantage…"

"You have your task, Megatron," Centurion snapped, looking towards the Decepticon and shooting him a harsh glare, "As we all do. Now go away and make sure that virus is uploaded within the hour."

Megatron fell silent and simply nodded, although the reluctance in accepting commands from Centurion was obvious. He turned around and jumped, folding himself into his Cybertronian jet form and speeding away.

Centurion returned his gaze to Breakaway and Slipstream.

"You two will help me attack the Sector Eight facility," he said, "We just have to wait until the virus is uploaded. I want this whole thing coordinated."

"As you wish, father," Slipstream replied. Breakaway nodded in acknowledgement of Centurion's orders, wondering when Slipstream would deem it the "right opportunity" to take out Centurion. Not for a while, it seemed.

* * *

"What intel do we have on this place?"

Major William Lennox stood just outside of the red and blue semi-trailer that was Optimus Prime, parked on a corner of a dirt road that winded down into a forest valley. Behind them, beyond a road barrier was a somewhat high cliff and about a mile beyond that was the town of Twin Falls. The first droplets of rain had begun to fall, the predecessor to a much heavier fall. The vehicle modes of Sideswipe and Ratchet were parked further behind. Master Sergeant Robert Epps was seated in the driver's seat of Optimus Prime's vehicle mode, sifting through some loose papers. Captain Graham Winters stood nearby, rifle slung over one shoulder while he held a Mars bar in one hand, unwrapping it and chomping down on it.

Further down the valley and at the end of the dirt road was some sort of compound, complete with armed guards. Lennox had been watching the movements of some of the people in the place for a while now, taking note of the patrols of the guards and their positions.

"Well, according to what Morshower's forwarded to us, that compound used to be a biological weapons research facility," Epps replied, looking up from the papers and down to where Lennox stood, "You know, the sort of place where'd they'd conjure up all sorts of nasty diseases for use in wars and covert operations and all that. It got decommissioned in 1991, only for it to continue operations under the funding of a high profile terrorist group that eventually got found out in 2000. Again, it was officially classed as 'decommissioned', only now it seems to be in operation again under the command of…"

"Colonel Francis Weller?" Winters suggested.

"Yeah, him," Epps said, putting the papers aside.

"_I can detect Deadeye, but no one else,"_ Optimus said, his voice filtering through the speaker's near where Epps sat, _"There is no sign of Sam Witwicky."_

"Well, we know the place is being used by Sector Eight," Winters said, "I say we go in there and give them a good arse-kicking. They deserve it after what they did to us in Las Vegas."

Lennox had not been there when the Sector Eight commandoes had rolled up and opened fire on the NEST soldiers and Autobots at the rearguard position during the operation in Las Vegas. Winters had been there and had apparently been pursued and shot at by Sector Eight soldiers.

"They were gunning our people down as if we were the real enemy," Winters continued, "The Decepticons are the enemy, not us. Those Sector Eight people have got this entire war backwards."

"They don't like Autobots or Decepticons," Lennox replied, "They think both sides deserve to be punished for the conflict they've brought to our planet. And they're also not afraid to kill any humans who get in their way."

_"They are misguided,"_ Optimus said.

"Damn right they are," Epps added, "So I'm with Winters: I say we go down there and kick their asses."

"Optimus, you said you wouldn't harm humans," Lennox said, "With that in mind, are you going to help us bring down Sector Eight?"

"_I am not sure, Major. Those humans may be misguided, but for that they do not deserve to die."_

"Well, we just need to call in reinforcements, organize some sort of plan and get down there. I'm sure we can handle a pack of 'misguided' humans without the help of the Autobots," Winters said.

"Agreed," Lennox said. He looked to Epps. "Get on the line to Morshower and tell him the situation: we have a good indication of where Sam Witwicky and Colonel Weller are and would like reinforcements in the form of about twenty soldiers and plenty of equipment to match."

Epps nodded and brought the long distance radio to his ear, reciting the message through to General Morshower at Diego Garcia. It was a few minutes before they received a response and it was not the one any of them had been expecting.

"_Major Lennox, this is General Morshower,"_ the voice in the radio said. Lennox took the radio from Epps.

"What is it, sir?"

"_It's about the mess that was made of Las Vegas,"_ Morshower replied, _"I've got a man from the President's own personal cabinet here with an order from the President himself: NEST is to close down all operations and await further orders from the Secretary of Defence. The Sec-Def's apparently trying to negotiate with some other nations about what to do with the Autobots now that the whole thing's been disclosed. We also have a lot of pissed off civilians who have gotten the government's attention and want this whole operation closed down. Too many people died in Las Vegas."_

Lennox swallowed. He had a feeling about what was coming next, as did the others who were listening carefully.

"What are you trying to say, sir?"

"_You and your team are to come back to Diego Garcia ASAP,"_ Morshower said,_ "You're no longer authorized to carry out the mission. The whole thing's no longer in our hands…"_

"But sir, what about Sam? What about Centurion? What about Colonel Weller?"

"_I'm sorry Major, but you have to call the whole thing off. I hate this as much as you do but we're under orders from the President. You can't argue with him."_

"Damn it, General, doesn't he understand?" Lennox knew this was insubordination but he no longer cared. To have come this far, only to be called back because of some political problems? What a load of shit! Lennox could barely contain his anger.

"Don't you understand?" Lennox continued, "There is more at stake here than diplomatic relations or public opinion or any of that shit! The fate of the planet is at stake here! We've got a crazy fuck of a Decepticon on the loose and we've got a lunatic of a Colonel to deal with! You can't just call this whole thing off! You're going to let them win! You can't let the bad guys win!"

"Bad guys?" Epps raised an eyebrow at the use of such a clichéd term. Lennox shrugged.

"_Major, may I remind you that you're bordering on insubordination…"_

"I don't care! We've come this far, we've gone through so much…We're not packing up and leaving, hell no. We're going to see this through. We're going to kill Centurion, we're going to kill Weller and we're going to save the fucking planet! We lost Ironhide, Bumblebee, Depthcharge…What about all of the soldiers we've lost? All the ones we lost in Holland, or Vienna, or Las Vegas? We have to see this through for them. Now, I'm not quite sure what Centurion is planning to do but I know it has something to do with a being named Unicron. From what I hear, Centurion wants to bring this guy out of some kind of 'inter-dimensional prison'…"

"_I know this, I've read the reports…"_

"Then you should know that if Unicron gets out, that if he's as bad as the Autobots say he is, then we're fucked! Everyone on this planet is fucked! Everyone in the whole damn universe is fucked, apparently. We have to stop him from getting out, no matter the cost. Because if we fail, then the cost will be even higher. So say what you want General, but we can't just turn back on this. Tell the President that, tell him that there are a few good men who want to finish the fight."

There was a long pause as Morshower considered what had been said. Lennox could imagine the court marshal he would face when this was all over.

"_You're on your own, Lennox. I'll try and help you where I can, but my hands are tied."_ Another pause, then: _"Good luck. I sure as hell hope this whole situation works out. Just remember this: you're no longer protected by the military. You get into trouble and there'll be nothing I can do to get you out of it."_

Lennox handed the radio back to Epps.

"I didn't think you were the type to make speeches," Winters said.

"I'm not," Lennox replied, "I just winged that."

"_Regardless, I agree with the Major: We cannot stop now. Not when there is so much at stake."_ Optimus' tone was level, as it often was._ "Unicron, if the legends are true, is a dangerous being. We must not allow him to be freed from his inter-dimensional prison. The cost may be high, it already has been high, but we must stop him."_

"Then I say we get on with it," Winters said, "And we quit standing around like this."

"_Are we heading into the compound?"_ Ratchet was the one to ask this. _"I'm not entirely sure about this, since we may end up harming humans…"_

"_As I said, the cost will be great,"_ Optimus said, _"But we must succeed, regardless of the things we have to do in the process."_

At that moment, it started to rain. Lennox checked his assault rifle and climbed into Optimus' vehicle mode, with Winters heading into Sideswipe's vehicle mode.

"We'll make this quick and clean," Lennox said, "Engage only when fired upon. We get in, get Witwicky, kill the Colonel and get out." The task ahead was a monumental one, especially since it would be just three humans and three Autobots raiding the compound. However, the odds had been against them in the past and they had pulled through. Hopefully they could do it again…hopefully.


	25. Debriefing

****

Debriefing  
December 17th, 2010  
NEST Headquarters, Diego Garcia

It was late at Diego Garcia. The air base itself was illuminated fairly brightly, with planes coming and going almost constantly. Inside one of the buildings of the NEST headquarters was a mess hall and here was where Father James Turner, Jones Marshall and ex-Sector Seven Agent Simmons were seated, with little else to do but sit around and wait. Neither of the three were particularly talkative, although Simmons had tried to start conversation on a few occasions but the others had not been keen to follow on.

The last few hours had been taken up by the debriefing: questions, orders and so forth had been pitched to them, sometimes repeatedly in order to make sure they got the gist of it. Usually this sort of thing would involve signing a secrets act or something of the kind, however the whole situation was grossly out of control and the existence of the Cybertronians had since been disclosed to the majority of the American public. Thus, a secrets act was completely unnecessary if those secrets were not entirely "secret" anymore.

There was a television in the corner of the mess hall, the news report there playing to a mostly empty room. Rioting continued in Las Vegas, the governments of Russia and China demanded some sort of involvement with the Cybertronians and whatever technology they had to offer while, in other news, the President's dog had been hit by a car (but was otherwise still alive and well). If anything, much of the civilized world was in chaos. It had been the sort of scenario the people in NEST had been dreading if there ever was a disclosure. What made this even worse was the fact that the President had ordered NEST to be temporarily closed down until thing could be brought under control. Already protestors were gathering outside the White House, announcing their unhappiness with the government and causing general trouble.

Neither James, Jones nor Simmons were particularly happy with their current situation. If they had known that they would be made to stay in the base here on Diego Garcia, as if they were prisoners, then they might have done something earlier to ensure they were not brought here. Why NEST was making them stay here was unknown but Simmons supposed it had something to do with the extent of what they knew about what was going on. Whereas the general public may now know of the existence of Cybertronians, they were completely in the dark about the whole Centurion business. Simmons, James and Jones knew exactly what was going on, about Sam, about Weller and about Centurion.

"I don't get why we have to stay here," Jones said, breaking the silence that had fallen between the three of them, "We're not a threat, we're just three guys who got dragged into this business."

"We're three guys who know a bit too much about what's going on," Simmons said, "Because of that, they have all the reasons they need to keep us here. We could go out into the public and start spreading scare stories, maybe sell secrets to the Chinese…Who knows what we'll do?"

"We do," James said, "We shouldn't be kept here as prisoners. That's what we are, pretty much: prisoners. We're not allowed off of this base."

"And if we somehow got off this base, where would we go?" Jones asked, shaking his head, "There's just water all around. We're on an island, for Christ's sake."

Jones had a point. If they were to somehow escape, they would have nowhere to go. The only ways off of this island were by boat and by plane. There was not a hell of a lot of boats around here while none of them knew how to fly a plane. Simmons supposed any attempt at escape would just get them into trouble and he could imagine that they would actually be locked up if that happened. At least at the moment they could wander the base. They had even received their own room and did not need to pay for the food they were given. It was all government funded anyway.

"I say we sit tight," Simmons said, "I'm sure we'll get sent home sooner or later."

"What about Sam?" James asked, "You heard what Morshower said: Sam got captured by Sector Eight. I wouldn't like to think about what they would do to him. Experiments, probably. Nasty ones at that."

"You may be all for heading out to save the day," Jones said, looking at the priest, "But I'm not. I just want to go home and go to sleep. I was just dragged into this business into the first place…"

"We were all dragged into it, son," Simmons said, "Because for once in your life you get an opportunity to amount o something yet you decide to give up and throw it all away. Well, not me. Once I'm out of here I'm going to find Sam and I'm going to get to the bottom about what's happening. I'm sure the NEST people won't appreciate that but who cares what they think? I've got a duty to fulfil…"

"What duty?" Jones asked, "To go and get yourself killed on some idiotic crusade for truth and justice?"

"It is not idiotic," Simmons replied, his voice taking on a defensive tone, "Far from idiotic, in fact. We were all brought into this for a reason, I'm sure of it. As they say, everything happens for a reason. Our involvement in this far exceeds plain misfortune or luck. There are greater powers at work…"

He trailed off, thinking about the notion some more. Greater powers at work? He suddenly felt like an idiot for saying that. He had never been a religious person and to say that maybe God or some other divine being was at work here just made him feel stupid.

"Who's at work?" Jones asked, raising an eyebrow, "God?"

"Well, I'm just saying that there has to be a reason why everything's happened the way it has," Simmons replied. He turned to look at James. "Remember James, when you got into that Sector Eight facility in New Mexico? How you freed Deadeye?"

"Yeah…"

"It seems convenient you were there just when Deadeye was, doesn't it? Or what about the fact that Deadeye became the very car that Jones won in a raffle? That you two grouped up with Sam and sought me out for help? It's all very contrived, don't you think? Those sorts of coincidences don't happen very much…"

"What are you saying?" James asked, "That God's at work here?"

"What I'm saying that everything's happened for a reason, whether that reason is clear or not," Simmons continued, "I think it must have something to do with Unicron, that badass Centurion wants to let into our plane of reality. It's obvious Centurion's fallen under his sway, he sees this Unicron being as a God. But what if he's hearing Unicron's voice? What if Unicron's being guiding him this whole time? Just because Unicron's in some outer-dimensional prisoner that doesn't mean he can't communicate with people in this reality."

There was a brief silence as the trio pondered the thought. Simmons knew it sounded far fetched but he had once learnt that he should "never rule out anything" and divine intervention was one of those things. What kind of divine intervention, either benevolent or malevolent, was impossible to ascertain.

"Are you saying Unicron's been doing everything? That he's been manipulating things?" James asked. The thought was a scary one but it was strangely likely.

"I'm saying that if this guy has been to other realities, as the Autobots say he might have, then it seems likely he's been trying to get himself freed through these other realities for God knows how long. He's probably played the situation out so many times in so many other realities that he's perfected it so much he's finally come to our particular universe and reckoned that we're a good candidate to try out his final scheme on."

"That's…unnerving…" James said, his voice tinged with uncertainty.

"You bet it is," Simmons replied, "But this is all just speculation. Everything could be happening the way it is simply because of luck and coincidence."

"Yeah, but what interest would this Unicron guy have with us three?" Jones asked, "We're just ordinary people…"

"I said it was all just speculation," Simmons said, sighing, "There's no way to be certain unless you asked Unicron yourself. I doubt he would think very highly of any of us, though. We are just 'pathetic insects' as the Decepticons like to say."

"But it is a possibility?" Jones asked.

"Anything's a possibility," Simmons said, "After all we've been through, I think we should all keep our minds somewhat more open to the unlikely. Alien robots are one thing, but being part of a megalomaniac's master plan…"

He trailed off and shrugged.

"I think I've done another doomsayer talk for one day," he said, "What I could do with right now is something to eat. These military places are always lousy, though."

"You've got me thinking," James said, getting Simmons' attention again, "About what the Autobots told Jones and I before we left Tranquility, about their legends and so forth. In their culture, there are two seemingly divine beings: there's Primus, the one who represents all that is good and light, so you could say he's the Cybertronian version of 'God'. Then you have the opposite…"

"Unicron…" Simmons said, realizing this.

"The Cybertronian version of Satan. It makes you think, doesn't it? That maybe us humans and the Cybertronians are sort of linked, you know? As if both cultures have been influencing each other for years. I mean, why would we have such similar ideas? About good and evil? About God and the Devil?"

"Yeah, but if this Primus guy is so damn omnipotent shouldn't he know about what's going on? About how that evil bastard Unicron is trying to get himself free?" Jones asked.

"That's pretty much saying, 'why doesn't God do anything about all the bad shit in the world'?" James said.

"Well, why doesn't he? You're a priest, you should know."

James shook his head. So many times he had asked himself that question, about why God never seemed to do anything to stop all the death and suffering that occurred in the world on a daily basis. The natural disasters, the wars, the outbreaks of disease…

"I don't know," James replied, "No one does."

"So, what I'm now thinking is that what if Primus and God are the same thing? What if the Devil and Unicron are the same thing?" Simmons asked, realizing they were onto something. "You know what that would mean? That if all those stories are true, then a big giant robot created all of us. That sounds unlikely, but as I like to say, 'never rule out anything'."

James shrugged. To think that a robot created the universe was certainly contradictory to pretty much everything to do with creation in the Bible. He was a priest, that sort of thing should have made him defend the good book furiously but after all that had happened and all of the chaos he had seen in the last twenty four hours, he did not defend his faith. Rather, he began to doubt it.

"I'm getting a bit sick of this theological bullshit," Jones said, standing up, "I'm going to get something to eat. Who wants anything?"

"Have they got any burgers?" Simmons asked.

"I don't know," Jones replied.

"Then go over there and take a look for me," Simmons said, smiling, "There's a good boy…"

"Quit being such a smart-ass," Jones said, turning around, shaking his head and starting to the food counter.

Once Jones had walked off, Simmons returned his attention to James. The priest was looking very thoughtful, as if what they had been talking about had struck a chord in him.

"So, what do you think, James? You think there's a high power manipulating things from behind the scenes or has the last twenty-four hours or so been because of luck and coincidence?" Simmons asked.

"I honestly don't know," James answered, shaking his head, "But if there is some sort of power manipulating things I would like to think it was the good type…"

"Primus?"

"Yeah. The Cybertronian God…" He sighed. "I just think that sounds so damn stupid. A Cybertronian version of God? That's…that's…" He struggled to find an appropriate term to call it by. "That's bullshit."

"We don't know enough about the Cybertronian culture to really be the judge of that," Simmons said, "Of course, I suppose you could go out and ask one of the Autobots."

"I just don't know," James said, "What if you're right, Simmons? About it being Unicron manipulating things? What then?"

Simmons shrugged. He had no idea about what they should do if this turned out to be true. He supposed they would have to work something out then…

"Then we…we…" He shook his head. "I don't know. I guess we'll have to cross that bridge when we come to it."

"I just don't like the whole notion that Unicron's had this all planned from the beginning," James said, "That he's put so much faith into Centurion doing everything right…Deadeye told us that he had interrupted Centurion's first attempts to do it, back in 1944. If Unicron has had things planned from the beginning, he would have known that would happen…"

"Unless it was not meant to happen," Simmons said, "That maybe Deadeye was the unexpected variable in all of this. That maybe…"

"Maybe Deadeye's the answer?" James asked, although it sounded unlikely. "That maybe Deadeye is an unexpected variable, one that Unicron hasn't taken into account."

"Well, that means we have to find him," Simmons said, "Well, we have to hope that the Autobots can find him. Right now we're in no real position to do anything."

"So, what we're saying is that if Unicron has had this whole thing planned, then we can take advantage of the fact, and it's a long-shot, that Deadeye, the son of Optimus Prime, is the one thing Unicron did not take into account?" James just smiled, primarily because it sounded just far too incredible. Never in his life had he thought he would be faced with a scenario like this.

"Who knows? Maybe Deadeye's some kind of saviour of the universe?" Simmons laughed as he said this and James joined in. Both men went on laughing for a full minute, not just at the stupidity of the whole idea but because of their current situation, the fact that they were being kept prisoner and were in no position to go out and find Deadeye or Sam. They laughed at how they had gone through so much yet now it seemed it would amount to nothing. How they had been dragged into the whole mess only because of chance and misfortune.

Jones returned with a tray with a few lousy looking burgers on it and a few cartons of juice, looking bemused as he found both James and Simmons laughing. He sat down in his spot and put the tray in the centre of the table, raising an eyebrow.

"What the hell is so funny?" Jones asked.

Both James and Simmons gradually stopped laughing, with both of them looking towards Jones and shrugging.

"Nothing," James said, "Nothing you'll really understand, anyway."

"Yeah," Simmons replied, "It's probably a bit too much for your meagre intelligence to grasp."

"Hey…what?" Jones sounded annoyed. Simmons just chuckled in response.

"I was just joking, kid," Simmons said. He took one of the burgers from the tray, sniffed it carefully as he did not really like the look of it, and bit into it.

"Let's tuck in," James said, taking up one for himself. Even as they ate, neither James nor Simmons could shake the feeling that they had been onto something when it came to Unicron and Deadeye. Still, they were not in much of a position to do anything about it.

* * *

Smokescreen had not much experience with humans and as such he was unsure on just how to talk to them, move about them or practically have anything to do with them. They were small and squishy compared to him and there was the possibility of standing on one when he was not looking.

Still, General Morshower was one of the few humans who emitted an aura of stern authority. He stood a short distance from Smokescreen, flanked by humans in suits. The General himself did not look very pleased with the situation and it was obvious that the other people with him were causing this displeasure. They were inside the main Autobot hangar, the vast interior having been the home of the Autobots for some time now. It had the bare necessities but it would never be like Cybertron. Whether that was a good or bad thing was uncertain.

The other remaining Autobots, including the Twins, Jolt, Chromia and Firestar were here as well. Optimus, Sideswipe and Ratchet were off somewhere trying to rescue Sam Witwicky. Smokescreen would not have minded joining them but apparently he and the other Autobots here were now only allowed to remain here on Diego Garcia. It had something to do with the current situation the government of the United States had found itself in during the wake of the chaos caused in Las Vegas.

Smokescreen was reminded of the injuries he had received in Las Vegas by the ache in his right arm where a Sector Eight grappling hook had stuck itself in. Ratchet was not around to patch up the wound so Smokescreen had needed to do it himself which might have explained why it still hurt so much. Still, it was not a major wound and he would live, something he could not say the same for some of the other Autobots. Depthcharge was dead and he had been great friends with Smokescreen, so his death still weighed heavy upon the living Autobot's mind. To think about all they had gone through together, only for Depthcharge to be slain so abruptly and so easily by Centurion…It was jarring, to say the least.

"Uh, Autobots…" Morshower announced, getting the attention of the resident Cybertronians, "There's some news: It seems that Optimus Prime, Ratchet and Sideswipe along with Lennox, Epps and Winters have decided to disobey direct orders to return and have instead gone to complete the mission."

"Can we join them?" Chromia asked, moving forwards ahead of the other Autobots, "They might need our help…"

"I can't really let you do that," Morshower said, somewhat glumly, "I suppose I can't stop you from going out on your own…"

"Actually, General," one of the men standing near Morshower said, stepping forwards, "If these Autobots try anything, they will be stopped by the military. As you should understand, the President has needed to negotiate with the governments of Russia and China in order to prevent diplomatic relations from falling apart in the wake of the public disclosure…"

"What are you trying to say?" Morshower asked, frowning.

"The Autobots currently out in the field will have to be apprehended," the bureaucrat replied, "While the negotiations with the governments of Russia and China have yielded some conditions: one Autobots is to be sent to Russia to be…well, to be researched…The same goes with another Autobot, this one to be sent to China. They've demanded it and threaten to close down diplomatic relations of they don't have their demands met."

"And we're just going to cave in to them?" Morshower asked, annoyed.

Smokescreen did not like the idea of being shipped off somewhere and "researched" which was really just a lighter term for "being experimented upon".

"We have no other option, General. Unless you want a war with China, I suggest you pick an Autobot to hand over to the Chinese. Same for the Russians."

Morshower looked at each of the Autobots in turn, shaking his head. He could not believe that this was happening.

"When do they want them?" He asked.

"As soon as possible," the bureaucrat replied, "So I suggest you make the decision now, General."  
"This isn't fair!" Mudflap exclaimed, anger creeping into his voice, "You're not the boss of us! We can do what we want!"

"Yeah, we can do what we want!" Skids added for emphasis.

"The Twins have a point," Smokescreen said, his tone even, "We agreed to help your race in the battle with the Decepticons. We did not yield to be under your direct command, from what I know of this alliance. I haven't been on this world for long, but if there is one thing I have discovered during my time here it is that to have petty squabbles between nations when in the face of a much greater threat is a terrible mistake. I suggest you tell the Chinese and the Russians that if they want any of us, they'll have to get us themselves. And none of us are going to make it any easier."

There was a brief silence as the humans considered what had been said. Morshower nodded in agreement with what Smokescreen had said whereas the bureaucrat, some young looking man with a briefcase in one hand, simply shook his head and pushed his glasses up his nose from where they threatened to fall off his face.

"Don't you aliens understand?" The bureaucrat asked, "The public are against you. All of you. They don't care whether you're on our side or not, they simply want to get rid of you. You helped make a mess of Las Vegas and when they find out your kind helped wreck the pyramids and Los Angeles they won't get much kinder towards your race. And with the governments of other superpowers trying to get a piece of the action, you can understand why the situation is desperate. We're trying to keep wars from breaking out here."

"Does the public know of Centurion and of the Decepticons?" Smokescreen asked, "They're the ones who have caused recent trouble and they're still out there. If we don't move to stop them, then this world is doomed."

"They haven't been told more than they need to know," the bureaucrat replied, "And that's the way it will remain for some time. They know of your existence and about your involvement with our race for the last few years but anymore than that…"

"We're not going to be sent to some other country to be experimented on," Chromia said, sounding as determined as she usually did, "We're going to go out there and help the other Autobots bring down Centurion."

"And just how are you going to do that?" The bureaucrat asked, "None of you can fly and the transport planes are no longer under NEST jurisdiction. You can't swim out of here, that would be stupid. Face it, Autobots: you're stuck here and you have no choice in the matter. In fact, a Chinese aircraft carrier is already on its way here. It should only be a matter of time before it arrives and then one of you is going to have to hop on board…"

"What are you going to do about the others over in Idaho?" Morshower asked, "You can't seriously be contemplating a military search for them?"

"They're going to have to be found and brought back here as soon as possible," the bureaucrat said, "If they cause trouble then we'll just have to resort to force. Whereas, for the three men with them, they could very well be charged with treason, helping an alien race assault a location of American soil. That's a rather hefty penalty…"

"You're an asshole," Morshower said through gritted teeth.

"I'm just doing my job, General," the bureaucrat said. He reached into a pocket in his jacket and pulled out a mobile phone, flicking open the keypad. "Now, if you excuse me, I have to make an important call…"

He was about to start dialling when he looked at the display and frowned.

"Funny…no signal…" He walked towards the partially open hangar door, holding his phone up and trying to get some sort of signal. The other suited bureaucrats and politicians were taking out their phones to see if they were suffering from the same thing.

"Mine's got no signal…" One of them said.

"Same here…"

Morshower reached into his pocket and removed his mobile phone. The same story with this one: no signal. This was certainly peculiar as there often was a signal around here, thanks to the booster tower on the island.

"Sir!" One of the technicians seated at a nearby desk stood up, holding up a phone. It was one of the island's landline phones for communication inside the base. "There's a call for you from the control centre! Something's going on!"

Smokescreen frowned, thinking that this was certainly peculiar. He could still use his communications systems without trouble. He supposed the human technology was prone to malfunctions and that the situation would be fixed soon enough…

Morshower walked over to the desk and put the landline phone to his ear.

"This is General Morshower," he said, "What's the problem?"

"_Our entire communications network just shutdown,"_ the lead technician replied, _"Satellite feeds are gone as well. It's as if someone just…flicked a switch and turned them all off."_

"What about the satellite phone? Can we use that to contact the outside world?"

"_I've already tried that, sir. It's not working as well. Whatever's done this has affected the satellites themselves. The entire global communications network could be down…"_

Smokescreen could hear what was being said and exchanged glances with Chromia. Something was definitely going on and it was not a good thing.

"The entire global communications network?" Morshower frowned. He looked at the computer on the desk, using the mouse to get to the internet browser. It opened, only to deliver a "connection problem" message and not actually get onto the World Wide Web. The consequences of the global communications network going down would be disastrous. What about those planes and boats that were out and about and that relied on communication through radios and so forth to avoid accidents? What about the millions who relied on mobile phones and the Internet? The chaos across the civilized world would be massive. Immediately he knew that this was the doing of the Decepticons.

"What about the direct landline to India? We can use it to get through to the Pentagon…"

"_I've already tried that as well, sir. Only the in-base landline is working, otherwise we're completely cut off from the outside world."_

"What's going on?" The glasses-wearing bureaucrat asked, "Why aren't any of our phones working?"

Morshower put the phone down and turned to face them.

"The Decepticons have brought down the entire global communications network," Morshower said, "They pulled the same stunt a few years ago but that was localized to America. Now, though…it's across the entire damn planet."

"They're obviously planning an attack," Chromia said, "I suggest we prepare for the worst."

Smokescreen could only agree. It was certainly clear that the Decepticons were responsible since no one else would have the capacity to take down a planet's entire communications network. He watched as Morshower picked up the phone again, putting himself through to the command centre again.

"General Morshower here. Sound a full alert across the base and ensure that the failsafe is ready," he said, "I'll be over in a minute…"

"What about us?" The glasses-wearing bureaucrat asked, sounding worried, "If they're going to attack we have to get to safety…"

Morshower shot him a stern look.

"I've got a lot of things to do at the moment," he said, just as an alarm siren started to sound right across the base, "So how about you just be quiet and stay put, for now?"

The bureaucrat fell silent, unsure on what to do with himself. Smokescreen could only be amused at the human's sudden fear. It was good to see the smug bureaucrat out of his comfort zone.


	26. The Breaking Point

"_When you're pushed, killing's as easy as breathing." –John Rambo  
_

**The Breaking Point  
**Sector Eight Facility, Twin Falls, Idaho  
December 17th, 2010

"_Have you always wondered what a long life would be like?"_

Sam Witwicky, who had once been human but was now an eight-foot tall Decepticon-esque Cybertronian, closed his eyes…although they were not quite "eyes" anymore, more like bright red "optics" very much like the ones most Decepticons had. To hear that voice again, the one he knew was just in his mind and not in actual reality…It angered him. It implied that he was losing his mind and this was something he did not want to occur. He wanted to keep himself sane by whatever means, even though he had just undergone a rather horrific transformation. He was bordering on insanity, especially if he kept hearing voices and seeing things that were not actually there.

The battered, scorched and somewhat more dirty form of the Decepticon Sam that was apparently in the actual Sam's mind (he was having trouble separating reality from his hallucinations) paced around the surgical table. He picked up a bone-saw from the trolley nearby and looked down at his real world counterpart, baring his jagged metal teeth in a metallic and malevolent grin.

"_You'll be alive for a very long time,"_ Decepticon Sam said, _"Millions of years, maybe more. You just need to recharge yourself occasionally and the Matrix of Leadership gave you the power to drain and distribute energon. You know what that means?"_

"You're not real," Sam said, keeping his optic shutters closed and shaking his head, "You're just in my head…"

_"Is reality not what you can see, what you can perceive?"_ Decepticon Sam asked, examining the jagged edge of the bone-saw. He put it back down on the trolley, regarding his real world counterpart with a curious gaze.

"_And you can perceive me, can't you?"_ Decepticon Sam picked up another implement from the bench, a scalpel. How could he be manipulating objects like that if he was not real? The real-world Sam opened his optic shutters and watched as Decepticon Sam put the scalpel to the metallic plates at one arm, working it into the gap of one of them and to the less armoured metal "skin" beneath. Without even a gasp of pain he jabbed the scalpel through, scraping a cut into the metal skin and allowing the glowing blue-white energon fluid to seep out.

"_So I must be real,"_ Decepticon Sam said, allowing a few drops of his blood to land on the floor, _"If you can perceive me, then I am real to you."_

"But you're not actually there," the real-world Sam Witwicky said. He had been stuck on the surgical bench for a while now and had been trying to ignore the constant visits by this hallucination of a much darker version of himself. He was not really succeeding, though.

"_You can drain energy, Sam,"_ the Decepticon said, _"And those machines keeping you stuck on that table? They can be drained. Weller thinks by shocking you he will incapacitate you. If you simply were to concentrate…"_

"Leave me alone!" Sam shouted. The room was empty all of a sudden and he was the only one within, stuck on the surgical table while several thousand volts of electricity shot into his arms. He shouted, feeling himself convulse involuntarily as the machines tried to keep him under control.

That darker version of himself had been saying a lot of frightening things. What scared Sam the most was the prospect of eventually turning into that monster, that twisted shell of a Decepticon that seemed to delight in other people's misfortunes. He did not want to become that, there was no way in hell that he would let it happen. Yet the hallucination had said that with the powers Sam apparently had he would become corrupted, "fall to the Dark Side" to put it in a rather clichéd way.

Sam knew he needed to get out of here before he did go crazy. His new body felt strange but he was gradually getting more accustomed to it, although there were still a few things that disoriented him…mainly it had to do with the now missing human parts of him. He tried not to think too much about it but it was disconcerting, to say the least, to discover that he no longer had a…

No, he shook his head. He could not let himself get bogged down in such downbeat thoughts. He had to escape, he had to save his parents, he had to save Mikaela and he had to find Deadeye. Weller had them all captive, so they were presumably in this facility somewhere. Sam gazed at the surveillance camera in the corner, realizing that as soon as he was up and off of this table he would be swarmed by armed guards. They would probably try and put him down without actually killing him, something that Sam could use to his advantage since chances were they were not going to shoot him. Even if they did he doubted bullets would really harm him now.

The machines connected to his arms would shock him into submission if he moved too quickly. There was probably some twisted scientist watching through the nearby window (which was a mirror on this side), flicking a switch every time it looked like Sam would try and escape. The shocks hurt but the more they happened the more he seemed to get used to them. Maybe this was evidence of a developing immunity? He had no idea but he knew he needed to try something.

He had the feeling that soon enough the Decepticons would arrive and try to get hold of him. The same went with NEST and the Autobots. In fact, it seemed he was the most important person on the planet…if "person" was a term one could apply to him now. An eight-foot tall Cybertronian probably did not qualify as a "person" in the usual sense.

Sam needed a plan, yet he had no idea what lay beyond the door of the lab. He could be a mile underground for all he knew. Still, he needed to escape and first he needed to be free of the damn machines that kept electrocuting him.

His hallucinatory self had said something about "draining" energy. Sam went to sit up and was immediately crippled by the overwhelming pain the powerful electric shocks caused. They were enough to kill an ordinary human several times over but Sam was no longer human anymore, instead being overcome by excruciating pain. He fell back on the surgical table, unable to control his movements as the shocks rippled through him. He let out a metallic groan, trying to "concentrate" as his darker hallucinatory self had said…

He realized then that by taking advantage of the powers he apparently had he was one step closer to becoming that darker version of himself. However, he needed to get out of here, he needed to save his parents, his girlfriend…If Weller had them in a cell somewhere there was no telling what might happen to them the next time Weller tried to talk Sam into cooperating with him. Sam would not cooperate, not when it was obvious Weller would have him experimented upon anyway.

He began to feel the pain from the constant flow of electricity lessen. In fact, a slight sense of pleasure and euphoria began to flow into him, sending a tingling sensation through his body. He fought against the pain and sat up, reaching for the connector at his left arm and pulling it free. He tossed it aside, a look of satisfaction crossing his metal face. Immediately the door into the lab slid open and several white lab-coated orderlies and scientists raced inside, accompanied by a few armed guards in urban camouflage uniforms and Kevlar vests.

Sam continued to take in the remaining surge of electricity, suddenly feeling very energetic, more than he ever had before. He pulled free the last connector just as the orderlies and scientists were upon him, grabbing him and pinning him to the table. One of them held some sort of tazer gun and jabbed it into Sam's neck, shocking him. However, the actual shocks did little but send a rather satisfying tingling sensation across his form.

Grabbing the orderly's arm, Sam lifted the man up off of his feet with ease and threw him aside. He hit the mirrored window to the right, smashing through it and surprising the pair of scientists seated behind it. They all went tumbling out of sight in a shower of glass. The remaining orderlies and scientists were looking desperate, trying to grab hold of Sam and hold him down so they could secure him with thick metal clamps.

The energy Sam felt now was practically intoxicating. He felt like he could do anything, like he could take on the entire world without any trouble whatsoever.

"_Kill them all, Sam!"_

Sam looked up and saw his much darker self standing in the corner, watching the entire brawl with a look of sinister glee on his metallic features. His red optics glowed brightly and a brief glimpse in the reflection in a nearby piece of the broken mirror revealed that the real Sam's optics were also glowing just as bright. Even so, Sam cared little as he jumped off of the table, pushing aside a pair of the orderlies and sending them flying into the far wall, knocking both of them out.

"_Kill them all! Haha!"_

Sam ignored his hallucinatory self and started towards the door where a pair of rather frightened looking armed guards were standing. Both had raised their submachine guns, hesitant to fire for fear of angering the nigh unstoppable hybrid storming towards them. One of them opened fire, his finger having slipped on the trigger. The other followed suit, 9mm rounds pinging off of Sam's metal form and doing little else but tickle the ex-human.

Sam grabbed one by the throat of his left hand and the other by the throat with his right. Lifting both up with his superior strength, he slammed them into the walls either side of the doorway, knocking them out.

"_Finish them off!"_

Sam shot a glare at his darker self who now stood behind him, smiling. He decided not to kill the two guards, simply dropping their unconscious bodies onto the floor before stepping through the open lab door. He was hit by jets of white smoke as he went through the small decontamination chamber. He stepped through the door at the end, stepping into a narrow corridor. There was a side room with windows set into the side, revealing it as some sort of store room where canisters marked with the biohazard symbol were contained. Up ahead was a locker room where several biohazard suits were hung up and where three armed guards were, their weapons at the ready as they waited for Sam's inevitable arrival.

All three of them opened fire as Sam started down the corridor, walking towards them as bullets zoomed around him, bouncing off of his metal form. Sparks flew about and holes were busted into the metal walls as he simply walked through the hail of bullets, entering the locker room. The three guards started to reload their submachine guns, two of them backing away frantically. One went for the alarm panel on the wall, smashing the glass over it with the butt-end of his weapon before pressing the button. Immediately red lights began to flash and a siren began to sound. Sam did not worry too much about it, not when he was feeling so damn _confident_. He grabbed the nearest guard by the collar of his uniform, lifting him up off of his feet with one hand before delivering a sharp punch with his free hand into the man's gut and letting him go. The guard went flying backwards, hitting the far wall with a loud _thump!_ He fell to the floor unconscious.

"_Damn it Sam, just kill them!"_ Sam's darker self was standing behind him again, egging him on.

"Shut up," Sam muttered, stepping forwards as the other guard had finished reloading. He went to fire but Sam had punched him across the face, not too hard but still hard enough to send the poor sod into the floor with a broken jaw and several teeth now missing.

The last guard had finished reloading and pulled the trigger on his MP5 submachine gun, bullets pounding into Sam's torso, only to ricochet off of him. The guard emptied the weapon's entire thirty round magazine into Sam to no effect and swore under his breath as the ex-human started towards him. The guard threw down the submachine gun and began to back away towards the next door, pulling free his Beretta pistol and opening fire with it.

Sam ignored the few bullets that pinged off of him as he grabbed the guard by the throat and pinned him against the wall. He needed to know where his parents were and he supposed this guard was as good a source of information as any.

"Where are my parents?" Sam barked into the guard's face, his voice a metallic drawl and certainly not at all friendly.

"Parents?" The guard struggled to speak as Sam tightened his grip on the man's neck.

"A man and a woman…and there's my girlfriend as well. They're apparently being held captive here. Where are they?" Sam made himself look somewhat more intimidating by baring his jagged metal teeth in a malevolent snarling expression.

"Oh…They're…they're in the east wing! Just follow the corridors…There are signs on the walls…"

Sam let go of the guard and let him fall to the floor, kicking him aside and stepping towards the next door. His darker self was behind him again, shaking his head.

"_You should have killed him,"_ his darker self said, _"He deserved it!"_

"Could you just leave me alone?" Sam asked, opening the door. He had to duck slightly to fit through the doorway as he stepped into a wider corridor, one lined with doors on the left side. Each had a small window set into it, looking into pristine white clean rooms that had once been used to house sufferers of whatever nasty biological weapon had been cooked up in the facility. Now they were all empty, no longer having much use except for storage.

"_You already killed once…"_

"That was an accident," Sam said, starting down the corridor. There were indeed signs here and they were directing people to the different sections of the facility. According to them, he was currently in the West Wing of the facility. The East Wing was some distance away, on the other side of an administration complex that was on the surface. It seemed he was not very far underground at all.

"_Ha! An accident!"_ His darker self simply laughed, following Sam closely behind. It was unnerving to have an hallucination so involved in the real world but Sam simply did his best to ignore him, preferring to concentrate on the task at hand.

* * *

Major Sarah Taylor had been seated in the mess hall of the facility, being forced to put up with the somewhat moronic natures of the guards seated at the table with her. They had just finished lunch and Sarah had been pleasantly surprised by the decent quality of the food here. Now there was little else to do but sit around and wait for Colonel Weller to order them off somewhere.

Weller was on the phone in the corner, speaking somewhat loudly. A television was blaring from one part of the mess hall with some sort of old Western movie playing, complete with stirring and fitting music as a chubby Mexican man ran through a graveyard in the hot sun.

"No, no…you don't understand, I want NEST out of the way," Weller said into the phone, shaking his head as he spoke, "I've got some things here to deal with myself…" Tucked under one arm was the lead lined box that contained the Spear of Destiny. Weller never let it out of his sight and always carried it around with him. He had obviously become quite attached to it. Then again, the legends went that once someone lost the Spear they met an untimely end. Maybe that was why Weller was ensuring that he carried it around with himself at all times.

"I'm about to test the Rubidium compound on a captured NBE," Weller said, "I'm sure it'll work. When it does I'll equip every man I have with some, that way we can get rid of these Cybertronians for good…"

Sarah wondered just who he was talking to. It was probably one of the many benefactors Sector Eight had in the government, most of whom were wealthy and powerful politicians, each with their own agendas.

"And if it doesn't work? Well…We'll just have to kill them all the old fashioned way."

"Hey, Major," one of the guards sitting at the table said, getting her attention.

"What is it?" Sarah asked, narrowing her gaze.

"You free Friday night?"

"If what you're after is a date, it's not going to happen," Sarah said, shaking her head. The guard fell silent, shrugging and thinking that it had been worth a try.

The television nearby suddenly had its picture met with some interference before the entire thing just went to white noise. One of the guards stood up and flicked to the other channels but all of them were taken up with white noise. Defeated, he simply switched off the television and returned to his seat.

"Hello? Are you there? Hello?" Weller frowned, checking the phone was connected before putting it back on the holder. "Damn thing just cut out, like someone flicked a switch." He reached into one pocket and pulled out his mobile phone, only to be met with a message telling him that there was no signal.

"Major," he called, "Does your phone work?"

Sarah reached into her pocket and pulled out her mobile phone. Funnily enough, there was no signal despite the fact that there was a booster tower over in the nearby town.

"No, sir," she said, confused, "It doesn't."

Weller put his mobile phone away and shook his head.

"There's some suspicious shit going on, that's for certain," Weller said. He disappeared into the next room, trying the landline phone in there. That was not functioning either.

At that moment, the alarm began to sound. It certainly surprised most of the people in the mess hall by the way some of the guards almost jumped out of their seats in fright. Sarah was on her feet immediately, putting her headset radio to her ear. However, she was surprised to find that this was not working either. Tossing it aside with annoyance, she pulled out her sidearm and started for the door. Whatever the emergency, she assumed it had something to do with one of their captives. She was certainly correct in this assumption.

Weller was on the landline again, this time using the facility's internal landline. This was working, oddly enough, but any contact with the outside world was impossible.

"Hello? Yes, this is Colonel Weller. What the hell's going on?" Weller's tone was level as he remained calm and collected. Unfortunately, whatever the person on the other end of the line said made him blow his top.

"What? Witwicky's escaped? Where is he now?" Weller could not help but raise his voice, listening carefully to what was said before hanging up the phone in a rather forceful manner.

Sarah had heard all this and was already on her way into the nearest locker room as Weller organized the guards. Slipping on a Kevlar vest over her uniform, she went to a large cabinet on the wall secured with a keypad lock. Entering the authorisation code, it slid open and revealed the rack of varying types of guns behind it.

Weller stepped into the room and stopped a short distance behind Sarah as she made her selection and began to load up.

"Major, Witwicky's escaped and is probably headed to save his parents," Weller said, "As much as I'd like you to go over there and stop him, I don't want you killing him…"

Sarah pulled a Python revolver from the cabinet, flicked open the chamber and began to load in some .357 Magnum rounds.

"If he's made of metal, do you think we're going to be able to stop him with normal bullets?" Sarah asked, flicking the chamber back into the revolver and placing it into her waist holster. She put her Beretta pistol into the cabinet, knowing that its low stopping power would be little help against Sam.

She pulled one of the USAS-12 automatic shotguns from the cabinet and slammed a fresh drum magazine into it. It was loaded with high explosive shells, capable of tearing a person to shreds.

"We need him alive," Weller said.

"I'll just wing him," Sarah replied, "Armour piercing rounds, high explosive rounds…they'll probably work."

Weller frowned but said nothing. He must have agreed with her about wounding Sam, if only to put him back into submission. Sarah, now armed to the teeth, left the locker room and Weller behind.

* * *

Sam Witwicky did find the cell where his parents were: it was one of the pristine white clean rooms in the west wing of the facility. On the way here Sam had ploughed through a dozen or so armed guards with relative ease, although he was sure more would be on their way. His darker self watched from nearby as Sam came to the door into the clean room, a thick metal one with a small window set into it. Trying the handle he found it to be locked so with a single punch he smashed the thick window and reached through, opening the door from the other side.

Within sat his father, Ron Witwicky, who looked tired but otherwise well and alive. He was in a shirt and jeans, having been snatched from his vacation to San Francisco by Sector Eight troops who had barged into the hotel. Judy Witwicky, in her usual blue plaid dress, was seated next to him. They had probably been like that for a while. Both looked at the non-human figure who had stepped inside and neither seemed sure on how to react.

"Mom, dad…" Sam began, feeling a sudden wave of fear. His parents did not recognize him…There was no way they could recognize him.

"What the hell is going on?" His father stood up, shaking his head. "I've been trying to work out why I've been taken prisoner, but none of the guards outside paid any attention to me. And now…what are you? Another one of those aliens?"

"It's me, dad," Sam said, "You know, your son?"

"How?" His mother sat up, frowning. "How are you Sam? You're an alien!"

"Damn it, mom, it's me!" Desperation crept into his voice. "You've got to get out of here! I've cleared the way…"

"Tell me something only our son would know," Ron Witwicky said, as stubborn as ever, "And maybe I'll believe you. I really don't get why an alien would pretend to be our son…"

"I'm Sam, alright!" He punched the nearest wall in frustration, leaving a large dent in it and making his parents jump in fright. "I have a dog named Mojo, we live in Tranquility…Two years ago Mojo got a broken leg so he needed to take pain pills every day for a month…I have a girlfriend named Mikaela…I died once, back in Egypt last year…"

"How do I know you didn't just get that out of some government file or something?" His father was sounding a bit frantic now, unable to quite fathom the prospect that the eight foot tall Cybertronian in the room with him was actually his son.

"Because I'm your son and I wouldn't lie to you about this sort of thing," Sam said. There was a lengthy silence. Sam knew they could not stay here for long, so he grabbed his father by the sleeve and took him out of the room, using his free hand to do the same to his mother.

"I can't explain right now," Sam said, "What you need to do is get out of here. There's a flight of stairs back down that way. There shouldn't be any guards since I took most of them down…"  
"What do you mean you 'took most of them down'?" His father sounded incredulous.

"They're still alive," Sam said, "Now just go. I still have some business to take care of down here."

He pushed his parents away but his father turned around, not quite able to keep the fear from showing on his face.

"If you really are Sam…" He began, but Sam cut him off.

"I am and I'll explain everything later," Sam said, "Just get out of here. It's not safe."

With some reluctance his mother and father started running down the corridor, disappearing from view around a corner. Sam hoped they wouldn't be picked up by some guards, although he was quite certain he had taken care of most of the guards down that way.

He continued further down the corridor, checking each of the cells. The one at the very end contained Mikaela and she was seated on the bench within, looking downbeat. Sam busted open the door and stepped in, surprising her.

"What…?" She began.

"There's no time to explain," Sam said, grabbing her by the sleeve and bringing her out of the cell. "What you need to do, Mikaela, is get out of here. I'm rescuing you…"

"What are you?" She asked, still unable to grasp the situation. Just who the hell was this alien?

"It's me, Sam," the ex-human said somewhat pathetically, "Just…you know, I've changed…"

"How can you…"

"Just get going, down that way. I took care of most of the guards there and there's a flight of stairs that lead up into the administration building. Use them to get out of here. Most of the remaining guards will be too busy trying to get me."

Mikaela eyed the ex-human strangely before starting down the corridor. Sam turned around, just as the door ahead slid open. Several armed guards charged into the corridor, taking up defensive positions and opening fire with their submachine guns. Bullets pinged off of Sam's form but his attention was diverted to Mikaela, who had only made it halfway down the corridor.

She spun and convulsed as the bullets impacted, with spurts of blood erupting from where they slammed into her, her forward momentum carrying her forwards a few metres. She tumbled to the floor and Sam, unable to quite believe what he had just witnessed, let out an animalistic scream.

"NO!" Sam shouted, recovering quickly as he turned his attention to the guards ahead. They were all shooting at him now, about half a dozen of them, all with MP5 submachine guns. The withering hail of fire made Sam stumble yet he pressed forwards. He was losing control overcome with a wave of sheer emotion, of anger and of hate for these Sector Eight soldiers, of sheer agony as he saw Mikaela get gunned down.

His right arm changed into its weapon mode, a large energy cannon, and he proceeded to open fire. He acted on impulse, barely thinking about his actions as he carried them out. From nearby, his darker self watched with a malevolent grin.

"No," he said simply, blasting the nearest guard in the head. Blood and brain splattered the wall behind the guard while the rest of his lifeless corpse fell to the floor.

"No, no, no, no, no…" He could hardly believe what had just happened, muttering this insane mantra as he proceeded to gun down all of the guards. He blasted one in the chest, blowing a hole the size of a basketball through him. The other guards began to get up and back away, still firing at him.

"_That's it! Kill 'em all!"_ His darker self was clapping as he watched the shootout occur, with Sam pacing forwards and aiming and blasting each guard in turn.

He blasted one guard, blowing the top half of him away and splattering what was left of him all over the wall. Sam watched with some satisfaction as the two remaining guards had retreated back through the door. There was one in the far corner at the end of the hallway, frantically trying to reload his weapon. Sam walked up to him and the man dropped his gun, shaking his head and trying to make a run for it. Without hesitation Sam shifted the aim of his arm cannon a little lower and blew the man's right leg away, leaving him to yell and scream and clutch the bloodied stump while it bled all over the floor.

"_Your parents didn't recognize you,"_ his darker self said from nearby as Sam switched his right arm back into its normal mode, _"Neither did your girlfriend. What hope do you have of ever being normal again?"_

Sam stepped to where Mikaela lay in a pool of her own blood. He knelt by her and with one hand closed her open and vacant eyes. She was dead, that much was obvious. Looking at her, he could remember the good times they had had together, the possible future they may have had together no longer an option. She was dead, he was no longer human…how much worse could things get? If he could cry, he would do it. But try as he might, he could not. Tear ducts were something Cybertronians lacked.

"_Kill them all for what they've done, Sam,"_ his darker self said, leering at him, _"Embrace your power and kill them all."_

Sam felt like doing just that. However, he was distracted by another voice from nearby.

"Hey, asshole." This was a female voice, one with attitude. It came from behind and Sam turned around, finding that a blonde-haired woman wielding a combat shotgun had somehow snuck up behind him. Her rank insignia designated her as a Major and the name 'TAYLOR' was stitched onto one pocket on her vest.

Taylor fired and the high explosive pellets hammered into Sam's chest, burning at his armour and making him fall backwards. Surprised, Sam groaned in pain as the rounds blew holes into his front. Bright blue-white energon fluid leaked out and some sprayed into Sarah Taylor's face, causing her to blink when droplets went into her eyes.

From where he lay, Sam kicked Sarah in one leg and sent her falling to the side. She grunted, dropping her combat shotgun. Standing up, Sam started towards her, feeling a tingling sensation all over his body as he finally began to tap into the power he contained. His left arm shifted and folded in and out of itself, changing into a long and razor sharp blade that glinted in the light of the corridor.

Sarah pulled out her sidearm, a Python revolver, and fired. The armour piercing high-powered round hit Sam in the stomach area, getting stuck between two of the plates there. Emitting a metallic squeak, Sam swung his blade down but missed as Sarah rolled out of the way. The blade got stuck in the floor for a few seconds as Sam struggled to remove the unwieldy weapon.

The Major rose to her feet and raised the Python. Sam pulled the sword free but was not quick enough to stop Sarah Taylor from firing. The bullet caught him in the left optic, shattering it and sending a lightning bolt of pain shooting through him. He screamed and threw himself against the Major, pinning her to the far wall as half of his vision simply fizzled out. Energon fluid oozed freely from where the optic had been, dribbling down his face.

"You ain't so tough," Sarah said, despite the fact she was pinned against the wall. She had dropped her sidearm but with one hand she reached for her waist and pulled free her combat knife, bringing it up and sending the blade into the side of Sam's neck. It must have found a weak point since it went straight in, sending a continuous wave of energy through it and down Sarah's arm. She screamed, letting go of the blade while Sam backed away and with one hand pulled it free.

Sarah stumbled, her left arm scorched and burnt, the flesh melted in places. Bolts of energy still shot along it. Sam recovered from her attack and brought the blade that was his left arm forwards, sticking it through Sarah's rib cage. She emitted a surprised grunt as he pushed her back against the wall, impaling her on his sword. She coughed up blood and struggled feebly against him but her strength had all but gone and her blood was dribbling down her front.

"Stick around," Sam said with a gleam of satisfaction. Pulling the sword free he let Sarah's body fall to the floor. She writhed about where she lay while Sam transformed his left arm back into its normal form. Slowly he started down the corridor, leaving the scene of the fight behind. Now with several bullet wounds and only one optic, along with the fact that the death of his girlfriend was on his conscience, Sam had decided that everyone in Sector Eight would have to die. His darker self seemed pleased with the developments.

* * *

Colonel Francis Weller arrived on the scene a few minutes later accompanied by two guards, finding Sarah sitting up against the wall, her burnt and scorched arm held out in front of her while bolts of blue-white energy shot across it. Weller kept a few metres back upon seeing this, looking down at the Major with a worried look.

"Jesus, Major, what the hell happened?" He asked. She did not answer. Rather, she slowly stood up and revealed the massive wet blood stain on her front and back. In fact, it was blatantly obvious she had been stabbed right through. Luckily the blade that had done it had missed her spine, if only by a few centimetres.

"What the hell did he do to you?" Weller asked. Sarah turned around, revealing the ever-developing metallic blotches that had begun to form on her burnt arm. They were nowhere near as acute as Witwicky's exposure but somehow, something had happened to transfer some of the energy across. Sarah did not seem at all affected by the fact that a sword had just been stuck through her or by the way he arm had been mutilated. Bolts of energy shot across her form and she seemed to smile, snapping the burnt fingers of her scorched hand and sending a spark of energy flying out of them.

"Uh…I think you've got to see a doctor, Major," Weller said. He ordered the two guards with him to transport the Major to the facility's medical bay. While they did that, Weller headed off to follow in the wake of destruction left by the now enraged Sam Witwicky. As he walked, Weller could not help but think that he had simply created more problems by keeping Witwicky captive.


	27. The Old One

**The Old One  
**Sector Eight Facility, Twin Falls, Idaho  
December 17th, 2010

Chaos had broken out across the entire compound. Sam Witwicky, angry, wounded and weary, stormed through the last corridor of the administration building, stepping outside just as the hulking form of Centurion touched down at the other side of the compound. The Decepticon, protected by the shimmering and nigh invulnerable force field of his, proceeded to blast the guardhouse near the main gate. By now an alarm siren was sounding and armed guards were rushing about, trying to keep control of the situation as it descended in chaos.

Sam had been despairing earlier, about what had happened to him, about the death of Mikaela…Now this despair had been replaced by a solid determination, that no one would stand in his way anymore. He would kill any Sector Eight soldier who tried to recapture him and he would find Deadeye, who was apparently being kept somewhere in the compound. Even so, he decided against making his presence known to Centurion as he raced across the open ground of the compound. By now it had begun to rain, water running down his metal form as he hurried over to one of the large warehouse structures. Coming to the side door, he tried the handle but found it to be locked. With little effort he kicked the door inside, sending it flying off of its hinges. It knocked over a guard who had been standing a short distance away, weapon at the ready. He was sent unconscious into the floor, blood seeping from a cut in his forehead.

The pain Sam could feel at his face and chest had since eased, although he was now effectively missing one optic. It hampered his vision somewhat but otherwise he could see okay, though half of his vision had more or less vanished. He stepped into the warehouse, quickly taking in his surroundings. Deadeye was spread out across a large central platform, chained up and being shocked repeatedly by a set of electrodes. He did not make a noise, simply sucking up the pain while plotting a means of escape.

Sam was immediately fired upon by several guards, bullets bouncing off of his metal frame. He stood his ground and soaked them up, transforming his right arm into the now familiar energy cannon. His heads up display counted nine armed guards spread out across his field of vision, all firing at him and all trying to stop the captive Autobot from being freed.

Raising his cannon, Sam took aim at the most immediately threatening guard and fired. Blowing the soldier's head away, Sam stood his ground and soaked up the return fire. He walked directly up to the nearest Sector Eight soldier, grabbing him by the neck with his free hand and throwing him into a nearby stack of wooden crates. He knocked the lot of them over, disappearing under the pile. The other soldiers began to fall back, some taking the opportunity to reload their weapons.

Sam began to feel increasingly energetic, as if all of this excitement and all of this power was beginning to get to him. He stormed forwards, taking aim at the nearest guard and blasting him. That guard fell to the floor with a smoking hole blown through him, an occurrence that inclined the others to resume fire. Sam had little trouble grabbing the nearest guard as he unloaded his submachine gun's magazine into Sam's side. The other guards seemed to give up shooting, running for cover amongst the stacks of crates and equipment.

Sam punched the soldier in the face, breaking his jaw, his nose and fracturing his skull. Dropping the incapacitated guard, Sam returned his right arm to its normal form, no longer feel the need for the overpowered energy cannon. Rather, he could take all of these guys on with his bare hands for a far more satisfying experience. One of the soldiers had pulled out a grenade, throwing it Sam's way. The ex-human picked it up and tossed it back, sending two of the soldiers flying when the grenade detonated.

The remaining two started to make a run for it, leaving the warehouse through the far door. Satisfied that he had done enough, Sam made his way over to where Deadeye lay chained and incapacitated. His darker self appeared by Sam's right, baring his jagged metal teeth in a sinister expression of glee.

"_I see you're finally embracing your destiny,"_ Decepticon Sam said.

"I'm not embracing anything," Sam replied sternly, "These people killed Mikaela. I'm not going to let them get away with that."

"_Do you not think that was what was supposed to happen?"_ Decepticon Sam asked.

The real-world Sam froze, thinking about this for a moment. What the hell was this evil version of himself implying, anyway? That all along he had been playing into his scheme, fulfilling his "inevitable" destiny? It was frightening, to say the least.

"_Her death scarred you, Sam,"_ his darker self continued,_ "It scarred you emotionally. It made you realize that no matter how hard you try, you'll never fit in again. She did not even recognize you, Sam. Neither did your parents. What makes you think they'll want anything to do with their son now, when he looks like the way he does?"_

"I really don't think I should be listening to someone who isn't actually here," Sam said, trying to ignore the hallucination. This was harder than it sounded, primarily because the hallucination was so damn vivid.

"_You seem to think I am a hallucination, a figment of your imagination,"_ his darker self said tauntingly, _"Did it ever occur to you that maybe I am real, that I am simply in another place at another time, transmitting a part of myself to my past self in order to ensure that things play out the way they do?"_

If Sam could swallow, he would have. What the hallucination was saying was only making the slightest bit of sense at first, but the more Sam began to think about it the more he began to realize…

"_I am your future,"_ Decepticon Sam said, _"I am here to ensure that the future plays out the way it does. And it's already working."_ He put a finger to his right optic, bringing Sam's attention to something he had failed to notice earlier: that optic was of a slightly different model to the other, as if it was a…

"_It's a replacement,"_ his darker self said with a grin,_ "The very same one you'll end up getting to replace your missing optic."_

Sam put a hand to his face and felt the damaged socket where his right optic had once been, prior to it being shot to pieces. He only noticed then that his hands were shaking in fear, with a wave of anxiety washing over him. He could not let this happen, he could not let this sick and twisted version of himself become real.

"What if I choose to not get it replaced?" Sam asked, his tone defiant, "Then you won't end up existing…"

"_It's already happened, Sam,"_ his darker self said, _"It will happen, it has happened and it was always going to happen. It may not have happened for you yet, but it will happen. That is what you have to understand: the future is set and nothing can change it…"_

"Why are you telling me all this?" Sam could feel the desperation creeping into his voice. His darker self was starting to make a lot more sense.

"_Because I like to see your reaction,"_ Decepticon Sam replied.

"Well, if you're talking to me from the future, how about you give me a few hints?" Sam was bordering on hysterics now. He began to laugh, shaking his head at the absurdity of it all.

"_I don't think so,"_ his darker self said,_ "Not now, anyway."_ With that, he vanished again, leaving Sam to simmer over all that had been said. What his darker self was implying was that a form of time travel had taken place, that his apparently future self was talking to him from the future. That was crazy: that meant that Sam survived all of this but ended up a sick and twisted shadow of his former self. What about Unicron? What about the Autobots? What happened to them? What happened to the planet?

Shaking his head, Sam returned his mind to the task at hand: freeing Deadeye. He transformed his right arm into its weapon mode, blasting away the chains that had been holding Deadeye down. With a well-placed shot he took out the electrodes that had been periodically shocking the Autobot, putting them out of commission.

Deadeye did not move, though. Sam stepped up onto the platform, looking down at the Autobot and trying to detect some sign of life in him. Deadeye could not be dead, not now…Sam doubted he could put up with another dead Autobot, not after what had happened to Bumblebee and Depthcharge. Putting a hand to the Autobot's neck, Sam remembered what had happened during his encounter with Sarah Taylor, the shock of energy that had taken the rather unstable human down. He remembered all the talk of the powers the Matrix of Leadership had given him, implying that he had some sort of special powers no one else had. Did that mean he could bring Deadeye back to life? Well, Deadeye was not dead for starters. Sam's sensors kept telling him the Autobot was in a deep state of hibernation, presumably in an effort to conserve energy for when he needed it the most.

"Deadeye, wake up," Sam said, "Come on, wake up. I need you…The Autobots need you…"

Deadeye seemed to stir, if only slightly. Sam jumped off of the platform, trying to work out a means of bringing the Autobot out of his deep slumber. It was obvious they did not have much time left, not with the fighting that was going on outside.

Suddenly, Deadeye sat up, his optics glowing a bright blue. He was alert, as if having been brought out of a nightmare. He looked around frantically, his optics going to the fully transformed Sam Witwicky.

"Damn it," he said to no one in particular, "We waited too long, Sam. I'm sorry…"

"Sorry about what?"

"About not being able to help you," Deadeye said, stepping off of the platform. He seemed a tad uncertain on his feet, as if his coordination was somewhat off.

Sam looked down at himself and shook his head, returning his gaze to Deadeye.

"I don't think anyone could have helped me," Sam said.

"We were supposed to get help from Ratchet," Deadeye added, "Instead we wind up here…Those Sector Eight types have been running all sorts of tests and experiments on me, trying to work out what makes me tick, how to kill me, what my strengths and limitations are. I put myself into a deep state of recharge but at the same time I remained aware of what was going on around me, if only to work out a means of escape. I'm grateful you came by…"

"We need to get out of here," Sam said, "The Decepticons have arrived and they're probably after me…"  
Deadeye started to pace, thinking things over. He was suitably more alert and frantic than he usually was, presumably because of the desperate nature of the situation they found themselves in.

"I heard some of those Sector Eight humans talking," he said, "I know that we're in some sort of compound in Idaho and I know that they've been trying to develop a weapon capable of killing Cybertronians on a biological level. However, there's something else…something else I overheard and it's a damn interesting development…"

"What is it?"

"Before I answer that question, I want to ask you something," Deadeye said, "During my time captive I had time to think about a lot of things, about Centurion's role in this whole situation, about yours…And I overheard you talking to someone only minutes before, someone who was not there…Who were you talking to, Sam?"

Sam had no idea on what to say in response. He could not tell Deadeye about his experiences with his sinister future self, that would be awkward and there was no telling what Deadeye would do in response.

"No one," Sam lied, "I've just been hearing things, that's all. Voices…"

"It must have something to do with your transformation," Deadeye said, "That's the only explanation I can come up with. Which leads me to something else…"

"Which is...?"

"You, Sam," Deadeye said with sudden conviction, "You're at the centre of this all. The Decepticons want you, Sector Eight wants you…Why do you think that is?"

Sam shrugged. He knew it had something to do with the powers he apparently had, but otherwise he knew little else about why he was so important.

"Now, I'm not saying it's what I will do, but some of the others may recognize the role you have," Deadeye said, "And they may consider that it's best to kill you and deny Centurion something so important in his scheme. I had time to think about this and I know that the Matrix of Leadership, which is now in you, is required to fulfil Centurion's scheme of bringing Unicron into our reality. But if you were to get killed…"

"Are you saying you're going to kill me?" Sam asked, unable to quite believe what he was hearing.

"I'm not going to kill you," Deadeye replied, "But if things don't work out, we may not have any other choice."

Sam did not know what to say. He supposed it made sense, that if he was needed by Centurion to fulfil his grand scheme then getting rid of him would stop it from ever being fulfilled.

"And that brings me to the other thing I found out," Deadeye continued, "I overheard some of the Sector Eight humans talking about it. It had something to do with another Cybertronian they have in captivity here…"

"Who?" Sam frowned. Another Cybertronian was here? How did Sector Eight get their hands on another Cybertronian?

"I don't know who," Deadeye answered, "But apparently he's dead. They found him near some ruins somewhere and they've been keeping him in the other warehouse for a while. Now, if he's dead then he might not be any good to us…But if he could be resurrected…"

Sam looked down at himself again. He realized what his darker self had been implying when it came to the special powers he apparently had: if the Matrix of Leadership could resurrect fallen Cybertronians, then that probably meant Sam could now do the exact same. How he would do it was beyond him.

"You want me to bring him back?" Sam asked, incredulous, "I don't know how."

"You just have to concentrate, Sam," Deadeye said, "I'm sure you'll be able to do it."

"Then that means I could bring back Bumblebee, and Depthcharge, even Ironhide…" Sam suddenly felt a wave of hope. It was a long-shot, as those dead Autobots had probably had their bodies disposed of already. Even so, it did provide a glimmer of hope in an otherwise grim situation.

"Follow me and stay close," Deadeye said, stepping up to the large set of doors at the front of the warehouse. He slammed himself against them, knocking them open and pushing the bent and damaged doors aside as he stepped through. Sam followed, finding the outside of the compound to be under siege from both Decepticons and Autobots. On the far edge stood Ratchet, currently in a close quarters battle with Breakaway. Sector Eight soldiers ran around, some carrying more high-tech weaponry as they tried to defend the compound.

"They need our help," Sam said, referring to the battle taking place nearby.

"Not yet," Deadeye said, catching a glimpse of Optimus Prime at the far side of the compound. His mood seemed to change when he saw his father and he fell silent, turning away and pretending that he had not seen him at all.

The other warehouse was a short distance away but was across open ground. While Ratchet, Sideswipe and Optimus kept Centurion, Breakaway and Slipstream busy, Deadeye raced up to the large double doors of the warehouse and smashed them open. Sam followed him inside, finding the interior of this warehouse much the same as the previous one. However, the Sector Eight soldiers here saw the Autobot and Sam and decided, rather than to fight them in a futile gesture, to run away instead.

Upon a platform in the centre lay the deceased Cybertronian in question: he was large, perhaps a head or two taller than Deadeye. His form was considerably older and less refined looking, with black armour plates and an appearance much along the same lines as the Fallen had looked. However, those armour plates were compounded by the almost scaly brown and reddish plates in places, giving this ancient Cyebrtronian a somewhat more organic look.

Deadeye stepped up to the deceased Cybertronian and looked down at him with a curious gaze on his metallic features. Sam climbed up onto the platform and surveyed the ancient Cybertronian from up close. He did not look very much like any of the currently existing Cybertronians, hinting at his obvious age.

"He's old," Deadeye stated, "That's obvious."

"And you think he'll help us?" Sam asked.

"Either that or he might try and kill us," Deadeye replied, "There's only one real way to find out."

Sam held out his arms, trying to work out how he should go about this. How did one resurrect a dead Cybertronian? Did all they need to do was think about it? He had no idea. He looked up at Deadeye for some assistance.

"So…what do I do?" He asked, "Do I just…touch him and concentrate?"

Deadeye frowned upon hearing this.

"How the hell am I supposed to know?" The Autobot shook his head. "You're the one with the power of the Matrix of Leadership, you work it out."

Sam simply shrugged and put his hands to the dead Cybertronian's chest, where the life-spark was supposed to be. He closed his one good remaining optic, trying to set his mind on the task at hand and nothing else. He tried to close everything else out of his perception, to leave nothing but him and the dead Cybertronian. Everything else was inconsequential, even the battle raging outside.

He could feel something now, a tingling situation that seemed to encompass his whole form. It began to increase until it built into a burning pain but there was no stopping it, not when the energy seemed to be coming from his very life-spark itself. Sam let out an involuntary scream as a sudden shock shot through him and into the dead Cybertronian. He pulled his hands away and opened his one good optic, falling backwards off of the platform as a burning pain erupted across his entire form. Strangely enough he felt considerably weakened, finding it hard to stand back up.

The dead Cybertronian writhed and jolted as life was returned to it, its life-spark glowing brightly as it sat up. Sam slowly rose to his feet, his energy drained, causing him to stumble. He had to support himself upon a nearby stack of crates while he surveyed the damage caused: parts of him had gotten a bit scorched while the former vitality he had been feeling had gone, leaving him feeling drained and exhausted. He supposed there were consequences for resurrecting the dead.

The once deceased Cybertronian looked at Deadeye and frowned, speaking in an ancient Cybertronian dialect that Sam could understand, oddly enough. Deadeye, on the other hand, was left confused.

"_What the hell are you?"_ It asked Deadeye.

"Uh…Sam, can you understand what he's saying?" Deadeye asked, turning to look down at where Sam sat. The exhausted ex-human slowly stood up and walked over, trying to keep upright as he fought off the feeling of tiredness that had overtaken him.

"Yeah…yeah, I can," Sam said, knowing full well that this only further hinted at how deep his transformation had affected him. He looked up at the old Cybertronian, trying to appear friendly.

"Uh…_Who are you?"_

The old Cybertronian simply frowned.

"_Who are _you?" It asked in return.

"_My name is Sam. That's Deadeye."_ Sam gestured to the Autobot, introducing the pair of them. _"We thought you might be able to help us…"_

"_You Sam, are not Cybertronian,"_ the old Cybertronian said.

"_No, no I'm not,"_ Sam replied, _"I was exposed to the Matrix of Leadership and this happened to me…"_ He looked down at himself and then returned his gaze to the old Cybertronian, shrugging.

"_So you brought me back to life?"_

"_Yes, yes I did."_

The old Cybertronian looked around, standing up and brushing past Deadeye in a rather rude manner. He returned his gaze to Sam.

"_My call sign is 'Grimlock'. How long has it been since I died?"_

"_I don't know. What do you last remember?"_

Grimlock closed his optics, trying to recall all that had happened to lead him to this point. He did not seem at all concerned by the fact that a battle was raging outside. As he stood there, thinking, a plate of his armour simply fell off, rusted in places. He picked it up, looked at it curiously and then tossed it aside.

"_I remember coming to this world to hide,"_ Grimlock said, _"The life here mostly consisted of reptilian and ovarian creatures. We assumed the forms of some in order to lay low…"_

"Dinosaurs?" Sam turned to Deadeye. "He's been on this planet since the dinosaurs we're around…"

"Then he's older than all of the Autobots combined," Deadeye said in amazement, "How did he last this long? His body would have turned to dust in the millions of years between then and now."

"_How did you survive? How did you keep yourself in the condition you're in now?"_ Sam was fascinated now, that much was obvious. To meet a Cybertronian older than any of the others he had met…It was certainly a rarity.

"_There was a stasis pod that I used to recuperate after suffering severe wounds in battle,"_ Grimlock replied, _"Obviously I was not released until recently."_

"You said you were hiding here. What from?"

Grimlock paused for a moment, as if overcome by painful memories. Sam could see that the question had struck a chord in him. However, he knew they needed to hurry this up, especially from the way the sounds of battle outside were getting nearer.

"_Unicron and his minions. They had entered our reality to destroy it. Some of our greatest minds constructed a means of trapping him, since destroying him was virtually impossible. We constructed it here, on this planet. We knew there would be hundreds of others like it in other realities, all operating in unison. We used this to create a trap that Unicron had no hope of escaping."_

Sam looked to Deadeye, translating what had been said. The pieces of the puzzle were finally being put together, it seemed.

"_Is there a means to bring Unicron out of his prison?"_ Sam asked.

Grimlock's optics widened upon hearing this.

"_Who would want to do that?"_ He asked.

"_Right now, there's a Decepticon called Centurion who's trying to do it,"_ Sam explained, _"He sees Unicron as a God. He's after the Spear of Destiny and me, since you apparently need both to release Unicron. I'm assuming the weapon that trapped him is operated by the Spear and by the Matrix of Leadership, hence the need for both."_

"_The Spear of Destiny, as you call it, was the means of accessing the weapon,"_ Grimlock said, _"The Matrix of Leadership is what powered it. If this Centurion character were to get both and then activate the weapon, then Unicron would be released…We knew something like this might happen some day…"_

"_It's happening now. That's why we need your help."_ Sam paused, turning to Deadeye and explaining what had been said. "That's why we need to tell the other Autobots," he added.

"_Unicron himself is probably manipulating events here in this reality to ensure that he is released,"_ Grimlock explained,_ "He cannot physically enter any reality, but he can most likely communicate with someone within one. He is a very powerful being and he probably has several beings in this reality under his control."_

"So what has Colonel Weller got to do with this?" Deadeye asked. It was a valid question and Sam could only assume it had something to do with Unicron's manipulation of things, which was probably linked to Sam seeing his future self. Somehow that evil bastard was communicating with people here in this reality, Colonel Weller being one of them.

"Weller obviously thinks he's doing what's best for humanity," Sam said, "He's probably under Unicron's sway."

"_What is this world like now? Do those reptiles still roam the lands?"_ Grimlock asked. He coughed, sending up dust and dirt. A plate on his shoulder fell off at the force of the cough and he shook his head upon seeing this. _"Slag it, I'm falling apart!"_

"_The dinosaurs are extinct,"_ Sam said, _"The human race is the dominant species. There are still plenty of reptiles, though."_

"_That means my current disguise is useless!"_ Grimlock put a hand to his back, trying to keep the plating there from falling off.

"_What is your disguise?"_

"One of the nastiest dinosaurs in existence!" He exclaimed. He tried to transform but most of the scaly, dinosaur-like parts of him simply fell off.

"This guy isn't going to be much help in the field," Deadeye said, "He's way past his prime."

"What do you suggest we do with him?" Sam asked. He still felt tired, the resurrection having drained him physically. He was only just beginning to recover but it would be a while before he would be running around.

"I don't know…"

"_I'm going to help you stop this Centurion fellow!"_ Grimlock exclaimed, _"If he really is planning on releasing Unicron then you'll need all the help you can get!"_

"He wants to help," Sam said to Deadeye, "I suppose we can't really stop him from helping…"

"He'll be a liability," Deadeye replied, "He'll probably drop dead soon enough. Hell, he's already falling apart."

"_What are you saying?"_ Grimlock shot Deadeye an angry look. _"You may be one of those flashy new Cybertronians but that doesn't mean I can't still read your body language! You think I'm going to slow you down, don't you? Well, I'm not! You are looking at the greatest Dinobot to have ever walked the face of this planet!"_

"Uh…Sam, what's he saying?" Deadeye asked, looking at the ex-human.

"He's pretty much telling you to get stuffed," Sam said, "And he's also saying how great he is."

"_I've slain hundreds of Unicron's minions!"_ Grimlock exclaimed, _"What have you done, youngster?"_ He pointed an accusing finger at Deadeye. _"How many of Unicron's minions have you killed?"_

"Listen here, old timer," Deadeye said sternly, "I can't understand you and you can't understand me. So why don't you just quit talking to me, you got that?"

"_Leave the youngster alone,"_ Sam said, finding the confrontation mildly amusing. Outside, the sounds of battle drew even nearer. _"Right now, we have to get out of here. How about I introduce you to the rest of the Autobots?"_

"_Autobots? What are they?"_

"Sam, I suggest we get moving," Deadeye said, "We've wasted enough time here already."

"I agree," Sam said. Deadeye started for the doors of the warehouse pushing them aside as he stepped outside. Sam followed closely behind, confident that they will be able to stop Centurion now that they knew a bit more about what he intended to do. Grimlock followed, complaining all the way as rusted parts of him continued to fall off.


	28. A Stifled Reunion

**A Stifled Reunion  
**December 17th, 2010  
Sector Eight Facility, Twin Falls, Idaho

It had been unsurprising when the Decepticons had arrived and started laying waste to the Sector Eight compound. Major William Lennox took this as a hint to get moving, leading Epps, Winters, Optimus, Ratchet and Sideswipe down to the Sector Eight compound. By the time they reached the front gate the place had already descended into chaos, with armed guards trying their best to fight off Centurion who had started to cheerfully lay waste to the cars parked in the parking lot. Optimus, Ratchet and Sideswipe transformed, allowing Lennox, Epps and Winters to move into the compound and start on their search for Sam and Deadeye.

There were three Decepticons here, including Centurion as well as Slipstream and Breakaway. Those two were at the far end of the compound, fighting off the heavily armed Sector Eight soldiers who had set up barricades and mounted guns in order to better defend the compound. Those defences did little good as Breakaway and Slipstream seemed to have little trouble in quite literally swatting them aside and continuing their rampage through the compound.

Optimus was the first to confront Centurion here, gaining the Decepticon's attention as he blasted away a few parked cars. It seemed obvious that Centurion had no actual plan of attack, rather he had simply showed up here to destroy things for his own amusement while at the same time find Sam Witwicky and Deadeye. Optimus' sensors had since detected Deadeye somewhere across the compound and as much as he would have loved to be reunited with his only son, there were some more important things at hand than a mere reunion. There was Centurion, who once again shimmered with that nigh impenetrable personal shield of his. He stopped his current activity and levelled his gaze with Optimus, regarding the Prime with obvious dislike. Ratchet and Sideswipe had since gone on to engage Breakaway and Slipstream, leaving Optimus free to confront Centurion. For once, he had decided to not try and reason with the madman since it was obvious that he was too far gone to be convinced to give up his scheme. Instead, the best he could do was stall Centurion and give the others a chance to get to Sam and Deadeye.

"Prime, we meet again," Centurion said, a malevolent grin crossing his metallic features, "I was wondering when we would run into each other again. It seems that everywhere I go on this world, you are not far behind."

"Do you think I would leave you with free reign of this planet?" Optimus asked, his tone level but stern, "You are insane, Centurion. Those who are insane cause trouble."

"Ha! Insanity and genius often work in cohesion," Centurion replied. He returned his right arm from its weapon mode to its normal mode, hinting that he was not about to start a fight with Optimus. He instead wanted to hear more of his own voice, a sound he quite obviously loved. If anything, Centurion was quite vain for an insane and powerful Decepticon.

"You're no genius…"

"You don't know me well enough, Prime!" Centurion interrupted, suddenly annoyed, "You spent most of the war fighting Megatron and his useless soldiers compared to me. You only took an interest in me after they had been beaten!"

This was true enough. Megatron and his followers had always been a bit higher a priority compared to Centurion and his followers, mainly because Centurion had laid low for most of the war. He had only returned just recently and was trying to carry out something he had been planning for years. Maybe if Optimus and the Autobots had gotten to him earlier, none of this would be happening.

"And now you regret that mistake," Centurion said with a sinister grin, "You regret it because you know, that if you had taken a more active interest in stopping me none of this would be occurring! I might be in some prison somewhere, left to rot for the rest of my life! Of course, that's wishful thinking. Even if you had reacted earlier there is no way you could have stopped me."

"You are vain, Centurion," Optimus said, keeping calm and collected. He caught a glimpse of Ratchet delivering a rather painful blow to Slipstream's face nearby. The Prime knew he would probably be better off to quit the nonsense and simply get down to trying to kill Centurion, although this would be rather difficult. All their previous attempts to do just that had failed, often with a high price to pay.

"And you are a fool, Prime," Centurion spat, "There's nothing you can do to stop me. I will win and you will die. Unicron will return and I will be granted the powers of a God!"

"Do you seriously think Unicron will do that?" Prime asked, thinking that maybe his best option here was to strike doubt into the faithful follower of Unicron that Centurion was, "Has it not occurred to you that maybe he is using you to simply get himself released from his prison?"

Centurion did not pay much attention to this, transforming his left arm into a long, jagged and razor sharp blade. He started to walk towards Optimus threateningly.

"He is using you, Centurion," Optimus said, pulling out one of his own blades.

"When he comes, Prime, he will kill you and the rest of your pathetic Autobot friends," Centurion said, stopping a short distance ahead of Optimus, "Of course, I will get much satisfaction from killing you here and now rather than letting Unicron do it. And I will get even more satisfaction from killing your meddling son…"

"If you so much as touch him, Centurion…" Optimus began, but was interrupted. No one would harm his only remaining family without being sent a world of hurt.

"Oh, spare me the revenge nonsense," Centurion said, shaking his head pityingly, "It is obvious that even your only son does not like you, Prime. Maybe it has something to do with the fact that you would try and force your own beliefs upon him when he is clearly quite different to you. You were a failure of a father and your own son hates you. I'll gain much pleasure from killing him, that is for certain."

Optimus' gaze narrowed. Centurion was touching a nerve in the Prime that few others had before. Though usually level-headed and calm, Optimus felt a near uncontrollable surge of rage. Maybe this was what Centurion was trying to do, to coax him into an impulsive attack that would most likely be flawed and easily countered. Centurion would have little trouble killing him then, so Optimus knew to hold back. He would let Centurion strike the first blow.

"Better yet, maybe I could convince your son of just how worthy my cause is," Centurion added, "He would make an excellent addition to my ranks, don't you think?"

"He would never listen to you," Optimus said defiantly.

"Is that what you think, is it?" Centurion shook his head again. "You obviously don't know your own son well enough. He is reckless and always thirsting for the thrill of the fight, unlike his level-headed father who believes that violence is a last resort. With me, he'll be able to quench that thirst for battle. With you, he will simply be made to hang back because his overprotective father doesn't want him to get hurt. You're pathetic, Prime."

"You're crossing a line very few have crossed before," Optimus said, clenching the joints at his jaw as he kept his anger under some control, "My son will never listen to someone as despicable as you."

"That's where you're wrong," Centurion replied, "As soon as I'm done with you, I'll be adding him to my ranks. Breakaway joined, I don't see why your son won't."

"Breakaway was misguided," Optimus said.

"No, he was not misguided," Centurion answered, "He was shown the true path."

Optimus had given up trying to persuade Centurion of anything. It was about as effective as talking to a brick wall, since Centurion never swayed from his beliefs. And to think that he wanted to somehow convert Deadeye to his cause? It angered the Prime immensely, he wanted to wipe that smug look off of Centurion's face. Yet he knew this was what Centurion had been aiming for, to coax the Prime into an uncontrolled frenzy of attacks and leave him open for an easy counter, followed by a kill.

"In fact, you could say that your son is more susceptible to temptation of power than Breakaway was," Centurion added, "Especially when he's being denied the chance to show his true potential because his own father's afraid of what will happen. Face it, Prime: you don't want him getting too reckless because he might challenge your leadership. And no father likes to have their position of power usurped by their own son. Imagine that: if Deadeye were to somehow gain more popularity amongst the Autobots than Optimus Prime."

Optimus had never thought about it this way, yet it did make a strange sort of sense. There was the feeling that yes, he had been overprotective of Deadeye because he had always been afraid of what would happen if his son became a bit too vocal and bit too influential. There were some Autobots who would happily take Deadeye's more action-oriented leadership over Optimus' more controlled and strategic approach. Centurion, for once, was right about something: Optimus did not want to have his position as leader of the Autobots usurped by his own son.

"Of course, I'm sure Deadeye has inherited some of his father's signature stubbornness," Centurion continued in an almost pitying tone, "If that's so and he doesn't want to listen to reason, then I'll have to kill him. Maybe I'll torture him, just for my own enjoyment…to hear the son of the last Prime scream and beg for mercy, mercy he will not get."

"You're about the equivalent of scum, Centurion," Optimus added through a clenched jaw, doing his best to keep his building rage under control. Centurion certainly knew what buttons to press to get Optimus fuming, almost uncannily so.

"And you are nothing, Prime," Centurion replied, "You're nothing compared to me. You're an obsolete warrior in a changing war. You might have made a good, respectable leader on Cybertron but here on Earth where the final battles of the Autobot-Decepticon War will be fought, your style of leadership is outdated and your army is down to only a few. You'd best give up, maybe I'll be merciful…or maybe I won't, it depends on what mood I'm in…"

Centurion seemed to lower his guard at that moment. Optimus lunged and struck, bringing the blade across the Decepticon's chest. It burned against his shield, doing nothing but annoy Centurion. He struck back with a flurry of stumbling blows, each one deflected by Optimus but each one made the Prime take a step back, closer and closer to the side of the main administration building of the compound. Centurion laughed with glee as he made the Prime stumble, sending him into the side of the building. The wall fell behind him and parts of the ceiling fell upon him as Optimus landed amongst several offices, smashing computer terminals, desks and other assorted furniture. A few startled Sector Eight soldiers were inside and they turned to start running as Centurion picked Optimus up by the throat, the shield over his hands burning deeper and deeper into the Prime's neck.

Centurion's strength was startling as he lifted Optimus up and a short height off of the ground.

"An outdated warrior in a changing war," Centurion spat, "You're nothing, Prime. Your time is over. You're way past your _prime_…" Centurion laughed maniacally as he delivered the somewhat lame pun, finding it wholly amusing. His hold against Optimus began to tighten, with the Decepticon's intention that of simply snapping off the Autobot leader's head.

Optimus struggled against his stifling hold, finally delivering a sharp right hook into the Decepticon's face. Centurion stumbled momentarily, allowing Optimus to wriggle out of his now somewhat loosened grip. He hit the ground and rolled, his neck burning from where Centurion had gripped him. He pulled out both his plasma cannons, blasting Centurion in the chest with both. Centurion stumbled again, the blasts detonating on his shield. Optimus rose to his feet and kept firing, again and again, causing Centurion to stumble further and further back. Stepping forwards, Optimus put away one of his gun and delivered a crippling right hook into Centurion's face, sending the Decepticon falling backwards. He landed upon a pair of parked cars, crushing them and setting off the high pitched alarms of both.

Optimus had no real indication of just how he should go about killing Centurion, as the energy shield the Decepticon had seemed unbreakable. Taking a step towards Centurion, who was just starting to get back onto his feet, Optimus once again aimed both his plasma cannons at the Decepticon and resumed firing. Again and again, blasts impacted Centurion's shield but did little else but cause the Decepticon to stumble and fall back onto the ground.

"Why don't you just die?" Optimus shouted impulsively. After all the death and destruction Centurion had caused, it seemed he was taking a hell of a lot of trouble to actually drop dead. Optimus kept firing into the fallen Centurion, never letting up until he lost track of the temperature of his cannons. Both overheated and stopped firing, momentarily surprising the Prime. As they cooled, Centurion rose back onto his feet and started to laugh.

"I don't die as easily as you do, Prime," Centurion said, chuckling. Optimus looked at his plasma cannons and desperately waited for both to cool down, only for Centurion to deliver a painful and crippling blow across his face.

Optimus was sent flying backwards a short distance, flattening a fence and a car. The car alarm sounded, already adding to the others that were currently sounding. Where Centurion's fist had connected hurt like mad and burned profoundly, as it seemed that practically everything Centurion touched took damage. Optimus spat out energon fluid, with static washing across his heads up display as Centurion approached.

"Give up," Centurion said, grabbing Optimus by the neck again and lifting him up so that their heads were level. Centurion's grip burned ferociously, working its way deeper and deeper…With his free hand he reached into a gap just between two of the metal plates at Optimus' left shoulder.

"Never," Optimus spat, spraying blue-white energon fluid onto Centurion's face.

"Too bad," Centurion said, the fingers under Optimus' shoulder plating finding part of a rather important energon line. With a quick tug he ruptured it, sending a wave of agonizing pain flowing through Optimus' arm and up his neck. Optimus groaned as Centurion threw him aside, sending him into another part of the administration building, taking out an air conditioning unit and storage room. All sorts of boxes and discarded equipment fell around the Prime, his left arm rendered useless as the energon being supplied to it instead spilled out from the ruptured energon line.  
Centurion was on him in seconds, his left arm once again becoming an intimidating and razor sharp blade.

"Send my regards to the other Autobots I've killed once you're on the other side," Centurion said, "Tell them that Unicron is coming. Tell them that even in the afterlife, they are not safe from him." He paused for a moment, making eye contact with Optimus before plunging the blade into the Prime's stomach area.

The Prime shouted in pain, the excruciating burning wave working its way from where the blade had gone through and across his entire body. Optimus reached up through the haze of pain and connected a crippling left hook against Centurion's face. The Decepticon stumbled, pulling the blade out of Optimus' stomach. The Prime slowly rose to his feet, bleeding energon and almost crippled with the pain he could feel in his now useless left arm and stomach area. Raising one plasma cannon with his right arm, Optimus sent an overcharged shot straight into Centurion's chest, knocking the Decepticon flat on his back.

"Father."

Optimus looked around, finding the origin of the voice that had said this. He collapsed into a heap against the side of the administration building as Deadeye raced to his side, followed by the eight foot tall and noticeably Decepticon looking Sam Witwicky. The old and falling apart Grimlock stood nearby, watching the fallen Centurion carefully.

"Deadeye…" Optimus managed to say. He felt somewhat weak now, his injuries finally catching up to him.

* * *

Inside the facility, Colonel Francis Weller was suitably pissed off. His plans had fallen apart: Sam Witwicky had broken out, Deadeye had escaped and that really old Cybertronian recovered from near the ruins in Venezuela had escaped as well. Three Decepticons lay waste to the compound and the highly trained Sector Eight soldiers were fleeing, outmatched by these intimidating foes. Major Sarah Taylor lay in a laboratory somewhere, overcome with a bizarre condition that so far was manifesting itself in her new ability to manipulate electricity. It was quite clear that everything was falling apart now, so Weller had taken matters into his own hands.

He had since put the Spear of Destiny (more precisely, "spearhead") into a small pouch that he wore at his side as the lead lined box it had been in before was too heavy and bulky. Weller carried with him a grenade launcher and a Remington shotgun that he had slung around one shoulder. Storming into one of the underground laboratories, he found the refrigerator where one of the more important projects of this facility was being kept: the first batch of a Cybertronian destroying micro-organism, capable of attacking the species on a molecular level. This was what he had intended to test on the captured Deadeye to see if it would work, unfortunately that plan had been effectively dumped as of recently. Now he would simply go outside and test it out in the field: whether it worked or not was currently open for debate.

The grenade launcher was a single barrel, single shot one and as such not entirely practical. Still, Weller flipped open the barrel and pulled open the refrigerator, pulling one of the canisters of the micro-organism which, through the glass of the canister, appeared as a viscous green liquid. He slipped it into the grenade launcher, thankful that he had ordered that the micro-organism be loaded into compatible shells the day before, otherwise he would not be able to load it into the grenade launcher as he was now. Flicking the barrel closed he took out the last three remaining shells filled with the micro-organism, slipping them into a pouch at his belt.

Satisfied that he was ready for what awaited him outside, he started out of the lab and down a corridor before finding the stairs back up into the administration building. Unsurprisingly, parts of the building had been wrecked by the battle raging outside. Weller worked his way through the wreckage, coming to the relatively intact mess hall. It was here he spotted the three NEST soldiers, the three who seemed to be the most prominent and were always working closely with the Autobots: Major Lennox, Master Sergeant Epps and Captain Winters.

Lennox was the one to see the Colonel first, raising his assault rifle. He signalled Winters to watch their six while Epps also kept his aim on the Colonel.

"So we finally meet properly!" Weller exclaimed, putting the grenade launcher around his shoulder.

"Raise your hands, Colonel!" Lennox shouted, his tone stern and forceful.

Weller slowly raised his hands, managing a grin.

"Do you seriously think those Autobots are on our side?" Weller asked, "They brought their little war to our planet and look at all the shit that's happened because of them! We've got people rioting in major cities now that their existence was made public…They've caused more trouble than their worth."

"Just shut your mouth and don't move!" Lennox shouted, taking a few steps forward.

"They're as bad as the Decepticons they fight," Weller continued, taking in his surroundings: three against one. It was not a fair fight, in fact things were in the Colonel's favour. Had it been ten NEST soldiers things might have been different.

"Colonel, you're the biggest troublemaker here," Epps said, "So I suggest you just shut your fucking mouth. You've already said enough bullshit."

"So, if you beat the Decepticons, then what?" Weller asked as Lennox slowly stepped towards him, "Do you think the Autobots will simply leave?"

Outside, the sounds of a nearby fight grew in volume. Something hit a part of the building further behind, flattening that section of the administration building.

"They'll target us next," Weller continued, "We'll end up living under oppressive alien rule. I don't know about you, but I don't want a society run by aliens and resembling some Orwellian dystopia."

"Man, you are full of it!" Epps exclaimed, "That's why we're going to drag your sorry ass back to Diego Garcia. We've got some interrogators there who would just love to get you talking."

"I'm sorry boys, but no one's dragging my sorry ass anywhere," Weller replied, smiling. At that moment part of the wall fell in as Ratchet was knocked backwards by Breakaway during their brawl. Weller took advantage of the distraction, pulling free his Remington shotgun and firing. Lennox, Epps and Winters went for cover, Lennox opening fire with his assault rifle.

Bullets pounded the wall near Weller. He ran for cover in the nearby doorway, stepping behind it as the three NEST soldiers opened fire in his direction. Weller stuck his shotgun around the side of the doorway, returning fire. A chair in the mess hall was blown to pieces by the shotgun as Weller fired again and again; only stopping to reload as he quickly slammed each new shell home into the weapon.

He started back down the corridor, heading around a corner and down a flight of stairs. Here, he found the sickbay where Sarah Taylor had been confined. Oddly enough, she was looking a bit better than she had been earlier as the bleeding from her injuries had stopped and the burns on her right arm had been replaced by noticeably metallic flesh. She was already out of the bed, pacing around in her bloodied uniform, bolts of electricity flowing over her form.

"Major, we're leaving," Weller said, trying to ignore the bizarre nature of Sarah's condition. The medical machinery seemed to be short circuiting in her presence, further hinting at her changing nature.

"We'll take the escape tunnel," Weller added, "Now come on…"

Out in the corridor he could hear footsteps, undoubtedly the trio of NEST soldiers who were after him. Sarah heard them as well and stepped out into the corridor, watching as Lennox, Epps and Winters raced into view. Weller watched with amazement as Sarah seemed to draw energy from the surrounding machinery, with the lights in the ceiling flickering and the computer terminal switching off. Suddenly she brought her hands together, sending an arc of lightning at the three NEST soldiers. It slammed into all three, sending them flying backwards into the far wall, incapacitating them.

"Holy shit, Major," Weller said as Sarah gazed down at herself with a grin.

"This…feels good," Sarah said, more to herself than to anyone else.

"Uh…right. Let's go, shall we?" Weller started down the corridor while Sarah took her time following, revelling in her newfound abilities.

* * *

Outside, Deadeye knelt by his father's form. Grimlock kept watch on the fallen Centurion who had only begun to stir while Sam Witwicky stood nearby, shrugging as Optimus looked at him.

"Uh…It's my new look, Optimus," Sam said, looking down at himself.

Optimus' gaze went to Deadeye, the first time he had properly seen his son in many years.

"You've changed," he said.

"So have you," Deadeye replied. There was an awkward pause, with Deadeye shifting where he was in an uncomfortable fashion.

At that moment Breakaway arrived and effectively killed the reunion, blasting Grimlock in the chest and sending the age old Cybertronian into the dirt. Deadeye stood up and brought out both guns, only for Breakaway to shoot him in the shoulder and send the young Autobot falling.

Ratchet was on Breakaway in seconds, his circular cutting blades slicing into the rogue Autobot's side and spilling energon. Breakaway threw Ratchet aside, groaning with both pain and annoyance. Centurion seized his chance and stood up, his gaze going to where Sideswipe was duelling Slipstream. Raising his arm cannon, he shot Sideswipe and sent the rather cocky Autobot flying into a small bunker style building, flattening it and sending debris flying.

Sam Witwicky decided to start running at that moment, only for Breakaway to race over and scoop him up, holding him tightly in one hand. Centurion regarded the fallen Optimus with a scornful look, smiling as the Prime struggled onto his feet.

"You can't stop me, Prime," Centurion said, "Neither can your pathetic friends. We have what we came for…"

Sam struggled against Breakaway's vice-like grip. Where were they going to take him? To their ship? Could he even survive in the vacuum of space? He did not want to find out. Breakaway noticed his struggle and with his free hand hit the ex-human in the head, sending him into a daze.  
Deadeye was up on his feet, as was Ratchet. Deadeye had both of his guns out and fired at Centurion as he took off in his Cybertronian jet form, the shots being absorbed by the Decepticon's shield.

"Damn it!" Deadeye shouted, turning his attention to Breakaway. The rogue Autobot was up and away before the young Autobot could react, effectively leaving him in the dust.

Slipstream was quick to follow the others, even as Sideswipe stood up and watched his nemesis leave.

"What a bitch," he said, moving over to where Deadeye, Optimus and Grimlock were.

Deadeye looked at his father, frowning.

"This isn't working, _father_." He spat out the last word with some distaste.

"What do you suggest we do?" Optimus asked, "Our numbers dwindle and Centurion's keep increasing. Have you any ideas, aside from simply following them and killing them all?"

"You and your plans," Deadeye said, "That's what got us stuck in this situation in the first place. You wanted to hang back and wait for the right opportunity to capture Centurion, you remember that during the day I disappeared from Cybertron? I wanted us to simply move in and kill the bastard. It would have made things easier."

"That was the day I lost you," Optimus said, "Do you have any idea how much that hurt?"

"Do you have any idea how much it's going to hurt when Centurion uses Sam to raise that army of his?" Deadeye asked, "Because now we're screwed. We're screwed unless someone has a really good idea, a miracle even."

"You shouldn't be so pessimistic…"

"We lost Sam. You do realize just what was so special about him?" Deadeye asked. "He had the power of the Matrix of Leadership in him. With that, Centurion's going to raise an army. How are we going to take on an army?"

"You're usually more confident," Optimus said.

"I've been through a lot and I've changed. I've also decided that always following your plans isn't a good idea. Sometimes you get things wrong, everybody does. Maybe you should step aside and let someone who knows what's going on take charge."

This was the usurping of his leadership that Centurion had mentioned. Maybe Optimus had been afraid of it, hence the harsh upbringing of his son. Either that or he was just a hard father by nature.

"You two should stop," Ratchet said, "We've got enough to worry about without having you two at each other's throats."

Ratchet stepped over to Optimus, surveying his injuries and shaking his head.

"Once again, Optimus, you're lucky to be alive," Ratchet said.

"Just do what you have to do, Ratchet," Optimus said, barely interested in conversation. Ratchet shrugged and started work on repairing the torn energon line in the Prime's left arm.

Lennox wandered towards the group, his muscles aching. Epps and Winters were feeling the same way.

"Any news?" He asked the Cybertronians.

"Any news?" Deadeye shrugged. "Well, if you count the fact that Centurion's goons just snatched up Sam Witwicky as news, then sure, we've got news."

"And who are you?" Winters asked, trying to get over the splitting headache he had.

"I'm Deadeye," the young Autobot replied.

"He's my son," Optimus added.

"_Was_ your son," Deadeye corrected, "As far as I'm concerned, we're not family. Not anymore."  
Optimus seemed to narrow his gaze but otherwise said nothing in response to this.

"Well, you wouldn't believe what happened to us," Epps said, "Some crazy ass bitch shot lightning at us. Can you believe that?"

There was a lengthy silence. No one really said anything in response to Epps' question as each member of the group was too deep in their own thoughts.

"What do we do now?" Sideswipe asked. The question was one no one in the group had a valid answer to.

Finally, Lennox spoke up, breaking the silence.

"With communications down we can't contact Diego Garcia," Lennox said, "There is a military base across town, though. We could use our authority there to get ourselves a cargo plane or two and head back to Diego Garcia. However, by the time we get there this whole thing could be over…"

"Grimlock here said something about ruins in Venezuela," Deadeye said, "Centurion's also mentioned something similar." He looked at Grimlock, knowing full well the old Cybertronian could not understand a thing any of them were saying.

"Grimlock, where do we go?" Deadeye asked, speaking slowly as if thinking it would make the old Cybertronian understand him better, "You know? The ruins in Venezuela? Where are they?"

There was a long pause. Grimlock seemed to consider what Deadeye had said, trying to work out what the young Autobot was getting at. Finally Grimlock held out an arm, a holographic display coming off of his forearm. It was an image of the planet with one particular location marked: somewhere in South America, presumably the ruins that had been mentioned.

"That looks like it's in Venezuela," Epps said, "But how are we going to get there?"

"We get a few cargo planes," Lennox said, "And then we'll fly there…"

"By the time we get there Centurion might already be there," Sideswipe interrupted, "We need a faster means of travel…"

Grimlock seemed to understand, getting the attention of the group as he started gathering blue-white energy in the palm of one of his hands. Optimus had heard of teleportation before, but he had never thought he would find a Cybertronian capable of doing it. He looked at Deadeye, trying to work out just why his own son was so apprehensive towards him. Obviously he had been through a lot up until their reunion now.

"Everybody stand perfectly still," Optimus announced as a ring of blue-white flame erupted around the group. Lennox, Epps and Winters stumbled back in surprise as the light began to build and surround them, completely blocking out their surroundings. Hopefully the ages-old Grimlock knew what he was doing.


	29. Nemesis Redux

**Nemesis Redux  
**December 17th, 2010  
Decepticon flagship, the _Nemesis_

Somewhere, something had gone horribly wrong otherwise Sam Witwicky would not be in the situation he was in now. It seemed almost impossible to fathom that so much had happened in only twenty-four hours or so, although he had lost track of time a while ago. Now he had simply been letting himself be dragged along into whatever situation followed the nest, from being captive to Megatron, to being pursued through the streets of Las Vegas and then becoming captive to Colonel Weller. Now he was captive again, albeit slightly differently than before. Add on the fact that he was no longer human and it was easy to consider this an entirely new situation.

There were a lot of things on his mind, most notably his current physical state and the untimely death of Mikaela Banes. It seemed typical now that fate keeps messing with him, taking away those close to him while making him suffer through an agonizing transformation. And yet there were still things ahead of him, still trials and tribulations to follow. There was the fact that he kept hallucinating an apparently twisted and sinister version of himself who was apparently his future self, although Sam took this with a grain of salt. He had since considered that he was just seeing things, probably a result of all the physical trauma and change he had undergone recently.

Where he was now, he could not be certain. He opened his optics and came to from unconsciousness, discovering with some curiosity that he had had his damaged optic replaced. This only frightened him, especially when he took in his surroundings and saw his reflection in a nearby panel: he was starting to look more and more like his future self, complete with mismatched red optics and scorches and dents across his metal form. He was not quite a perfect resemblance yet but another few battles, another few wounds and he would be a perfect doppelganger. No matter what he did, it seemed his destiny was set in stone. This frightened him more than anything else, as it meant he would become just like the sinister and twisted version of himself that he kept seeing around, taunting him and inciting him to violence. Sam had never considered himself a violent person but after all that had happened, it probably made sense that he had changed. He had killed, something he had never considered himself capable of.

His surroundings were mostly dark, with dim blue lights in the ceiling of the vast room he found himself in. The room itself seemed to go on for a mile and about half as high, with semi-transparent blue-white pods lining the walls and hanging from the ceiling. Sam found himself secured to some sort of chair, holographic displays flickering around him. He tried to struggle out, only to find that two tubes had been jabbed into both of his arms and hurt like hell whenever he moved them. Looking up, he could see a massive tear in the ceiling, one that revealed a vista of stars. Where the hell was he?

It occurred to him there that he was no longer on Earth. In fact, he could have been on any other planet now, there was no real way to be certain. He had always assumed that the Decepticons had hidden a ship somewhere to use as a base of operations. Sam was undoubtedly on this ship, a prisoner of the Decepticons. That feeling of powerlessness fell upon him again the longer he looked up at the tear in the ceiling and the starry vista. The whole place was freezing cold and there was only a very thin atmosphere. Beyond the tear in the ceiling was a shimmering blue force field, protecting the ship from anymore meteorite impacts and other hazards.

Sam knew he needed to get out of here, but he would do that with tubes jutting out of his arms…He moved his head, finding that one had quite painfully been stuck into the back of his neck. He groaned, both in pain and despair when he realized the full extent of his situation. The Decepticons had wanted him because he contained all the power of the Matrix of Leadership, a power that could resurrect deceased Cybertronians. Before him were hundreds and hundreds of gooey artificial egg sacs, each containing the unborn protoform of a Decepticon. He was going to be used to give energy to all of them, to raise the army that would wipe out the Earth.

He sat back in the chair, trying to work out how he would do this, how he would escape. There seemed to be no one around at the moment, giving him a chance to think clearly. If the massive army of Decepticons was raised then it would not take much for the two hundred or so of them to lay waste to much of the Earth. By the time the human militaries had fought them off, much damage would have been caused and many innocent people would have been killed. Sam would be indirectly responsible considering that he had been used to bring this army to life. He could not allow this to happen. He already had enough on his conscience without the need to further weigh it down with the prospect of being responsible for hundreds of thousands of deaths. Instead, he began to ease his arms, trying to work the jagged tubes out without causing too much pain and too much damage. It still hurt like crazy and he emitted a metallic groan, giving up when the pain simply became too much. What he needed to do was transform his arms into their weapon modes but at the sheer thought both arms hurt, as if the tubes jutting out of them were limiting his transformation prospects. It must have been the way the Decepticons holding him prisoner would keep him from transforming.

It occurred to Sam that he had no real idea on where he would go if he did escape. If indeed he was on some other planet, how the hell would he find his way back to Earth? Space was big, bigger than how big most people thought it was. He hoped that this Decepticon ship was somewhere in the solar system, otherwise he would have no idea where he was going.

As he had been expecting, the darker, twisted version of himself appeared nearby. He surveyed the captive Sam and simply shook his head.

"_Once again, you find yourself prisoner,"_ his darker self said, _"Can't you go one day without getting captured?"_

"The last thing I need right now is to listen to your bullshit," Sam snapped back, "On top of the fact that you're not really there, I feel like I'm going insane."

"_Well, it seems the Decepticons took the effort to give you a new optic,"_ his darker self said, stepping closer to Sam and peering at him closely, _"It looks just like my own, don't you think?"_

Sam's gaze went into that of his dark self. He felt somewhat uneasy in the presence of this darker, twisted version of himself. The way Decepticon Sam was looking at him, as if real world Sam had been playing into the very future Decepticon Sam had laid out…

"_All you have to do now is escape,"_ Decepticon Sam said, _"Of course, I can't really help you with that…"_

"Why not?" Sam asked, creasing his metallic features into a frown, "If you are my future self, wouldn't you want to help your past self escape?"

"_And interfere anymore than I should be? No thanks. I can't help you with everything, Sam. There are some things you have to find out for yourself."_

"Like what?"

_"Like your abilities, tapping into the powers you have,"_ his darker self said, _"And…"_

"And becoming more like you?" Sam asked, shaking his head at the notion. "No thanks. The sheer prospect of that just doesn't appeal to me whatsoever. To end up like you, a twisted, sick fuck of a person…Cybertronian…hybrid…whatever you call yourself, I don't want to be the same."

His darker self seemed offended at the statement, giving Sam a rather angered look.

"_Oh, but you will,"_ Decepticon Sam said through gritted teeth, _"It's your destiny."_

"Screw destiny," Sam replied, "And screw you." His optics met with those of his darker self and the glare they gave each other lasted for about half a minute, full of hard-edged determination and a feeling of never backing down. Sam did not want to end up like this apparently future version of himself, whereas the future version of himself wanted to make sure that things played out correctly and Sam did indeed become him.

"_You may say that now,"_ His darker self said, _"But there are some things you find out, some things that occur that change you. You will realize your position in everything in due time, I of course can't tell you what it is. You finding out yourself is an integral part of the journey."_

Sam scoffed. This was all beginning to border on some mystical mumbo-jumbo.

"Journey? Is that what this is? A journey? A journey to what?"

"_The journey to become me, to fulfil your destiny,"_ his darker self said.

"Bullshit," Sam spat, "I'm not going to end up like you and I'm going to make sure of that. In fact, how about you just fuck off and leave me alone?"

His darker self narrowed his gaze, annoyed.

"_I'm you, Sam. I can't really leave myself alone, can I?"_

"Well, you can piss off for a while, can't you? That way you can leave me in peace so I can think things over. Seriously, I can't believe that I'm even talking to someone who isn't actually there."

"_Oh, but I am…to you. Reality is what you can perceive—"_

"If you're supposed to be me, why do you keep using all these big words?" Sam asked, shaking his head. He was bordering on laughter, more at the sheer absurdity of the situation than anything else. "I don't talk like that."

"_When you become me, you'll develop a bit more sophistication when it comes to language,"_ his darker self replied, _"Really, Sam, you're better than what you are now. You've got to accept your destiny and accept the fact that you'll never be human again."_

Sam knew he would never be human again. To have undergone such a profound transformation…of course he could not change back, not after all that had happened. There was nothing human left of him save for his mind, his personality. The transformation could not take that away, although his darker self hinted that it would eventually.

"Leave me alone," Sam said, looking towards his darker self.

"_Accept what you are…"_

"No," Sam stated bluntly, "What I want you to do is fuck off."

_"It's your destiny…"_

"Fuck destiny," Sam said. He was beginning to get sick of all this talk about destiny and all that. What he really wanted was some time to think, or at the very least have this twisted version of himself gone.

"_You can't turn away from it…"_

"Could you just leave me alone? Please?" Sam asked, raising his voice. His darker self contemplated the notion for a moment.

"_You're making a mistake…"_

"GO AWAY!" Sam shouted, almost rising out of the chair. However, the tubes stuck into him sent pain shooting through him and forced him to keep still, for the slightest movement hurt excruciatingly. His darker self simply shook his head and started to walk away, disappearing around a corner.

Sam was left alone then, the silence hitting him quite forcefully. For a moment Sam relaxed in the seat, finally being left with some quiet time. He made sure that on the list of his priorities, escaping was at the top and just underneath was the plan to ensure that he would not end up at all like his darker self, regardless of what happened. He found it hard to believe that he could end up like that, spouting off nonsense about destiny and so forth.

He supposed that people could change. He had changed in more ways than one: for some reason, now he had little trouble killing people. Maybe it had something to do with the transformation, with what his darker self had said or maybe it had something to do with witnessing the needless death of Mikaela. It still hurt to think about, to watch her die like that, to watch anyone die like that…Mercilessly gunned down simply because she had been in the wrong place at the wrong time. And now he realized that very gradually he was fulfilling the destiny his darker self had mentioned: the change in personality, the loss and replacement of an optic, the many battle scars and so forth that were building up on Sam's Cybertronian body. Sooner or later, he would look just like his darker self. And sooner or later he would become just like that twisted version of himself, presumably through a pivotal event of some sort, one that must be so damn profound it changes him completely. Sam tried to wonder just what it could be that could change him like that but he had no idea.

At that moment Centurion appeared, stepping into view from around a corner, approaching Sam and peering down at the captive ex-human. Sam contained his fear, watching as Breakaway followed Centurion and stopped a little further behind.

"Sam Witwicky," Centurion said, peering down at the hybrid, "Or should I say, the 'half-breed'? The one responsible for two Decepticon defeats in the past three Earth years…And now you have something I want, something I need…"

"Uh…What would that be?" Sam asked, although he already knew the answer.

"Your exposure to the unique energy contained in the Matrix of Leadership triggered a transformation, one that has made you into something more fitting to carry the energy. Your human body would not have been able to cope with it: it would have died, so you should thank the Matrix of Leadership since it kept you alive the only way it could."

Sam sat and listened, realizing that this did make a strange sort of sense. The human body was probably unfit to carry the unique energy of the Matrix of Leadership, so somehow the seemingly intelligent Matrix had kept Sam alive by turning him into some sort of Cybertronian.

"Look around you, Sam," Centurion send, gesturing to the vast expanse of the ship. Sam did look around, taking note of the blue cocoons that covered the walls and hung from the ceilings. "In each of those cocoons lies a dormant young Decepticon, waiting to be given the spark of life and sent forth to follow the orders of their master which is, in this case, me. The All-spark would have made an effective means of raising this army, but that has been destroyed. The next best thing is, of course, the Matrix of Leadership. And you are technically the Matrix now."

Sam had a feeling about what was coming next. Centurion started to manipulate the holographic displays upon a nearby wall while Breakaway stood to attention, one arm having transformed into a high-powered chain gun which he levelled in Sam's direction as a precaution. It seemed unlikely that they would kill Sam at a sign of trouble since they probably needed him alive.

"In a moment, a process will begin which will get energy from you and distribute it to the hundreds of protoforms throughout this ship," Centurion said, returning his attention to Sam, "It will be most painful for you, but I do not think you will die. You are still required for another part of my plan anyway, so your death would be most inconvenient."

There was a loud whirring sound as lights began to switch on near some of the nearest cocoons. Sam could feel a dull ache creeping through him until a wave of agonizing pain shot down his back and bored into his chest, right where his life-spark was. It continued to grow as the energy drain continued, with movement becoming visible within some of the cocoons nearby. The squealing forms of protoform Decepticons burst out of some, covered in goo as they entered the world for the first time. Centurion watched on with a look of satisfaction while Breakaway, watching Sam writhe around in agony, seemed to be having second thoughts.

Sam wanted the pain to stop, he wanted this whole damn process to stop. More and more of the cocoons began to light up, the protoforms within writhing into life. It was nightmare inducing to see the squealing newborn Decepticons burst out and make high pitched metallic grinding sounds, almost like a baby crying. They would probably develop into proper Decepticons very quickly, although being born seemed like a very traumatizing experience. And Sam was undergoing enough trauma as the pain continued to overtake his entire form. He went to scream but instead a metallic snarl left his mouth. Breakaway watched from a distance, an uncertain look on his face.

"Uh…Centurion, are you sure this is wise?" Breakaway asked, "It seems as if we're cutting corners when it comes to birthing these Decepticons…"

"Those Decepticons will indeed be a bit…unstable," Centurion said, "When you're birthing them this quickly some things can go wrong. However, it is no matter as we merely need them in the coming battle. Later, when Unicron returns, those that remain can be put to work as labourers."

"So they're just fodder?" Breakaway asked, "You're not even going to give them a chance to develop properly?"

"Do not question my actions, Breakaway!" Centurion shouted, "You keep doing that, and I may just have to kill you!"

Breakaway fell silent. Sam was getting desperate: the pain was unlike anything he had ever felt before in his life. He needed to get out, he needed to escape…The noise of all the squealing protoform Decepticons was almost deafening. There were about twenty of them all crawling around, struggling to get to their feet as they had never walked before.

Something snapped in Sam, something primal and aggressive…He pulled his right arm free of the jagged needle that had been stuck into the metal flesh, spilling energon. Immediately red lights began to flash and an alarm began to sound, getting Centurion's attention.

Within seconds Sam had used his free hand to pull out the other tubes and lines connecting him to the ship. Those protoforms that had been about to be birthed squealed at the sudden lack of energy, some flopping out of their cocoons and crawling weakly a short distance before dying. Centurion went to grab Sam but the ex-human was quicker, diving out of the way. Breakaway went to open fire with his chain-gun but Centurion stopped him.

"Fool! We need him alive!"

Sam took off down the nearest corridor, the sounds of the dying protoforms grating into his very being. The metallic grinds, the squeals…it was horrible and it was enough to fuel one's nightmares. Sam kept running, following the vast and winding expanses of the Decepticon vessel. Finally he reached an opening, one that opened onto a barren grey and crater-marked landscape. Looking up, Sam could see a dizzying and vast array of stars. The sheer sight of it made him feel lightheaded and he stumbled out onto the darkened and cold surface of the moon. It certainly looked like the moon anyway and he assumed he was on its far side, its dark side for he could not see Earth.

He started running, the suddenly low gravity adding extra spring in his stride. He had no idea how he would get off of the moon but once he was some distance away from the Decepticon ship, he stopped at the bottom of a crater and looked around.

It was quiet. In fact, it was completely and utterly silent. There was no atmosphere and thus nothing for sound waves to travel on. He was bordering on a nervous breakdown, especially when he saw how much he was bleeding blue-white energon. It dribbled down his arms, his back, his legs…The energy drain had left him feeling tired but he knew he needed to press on, to get out of here, to get back to Earth. How could he do that?

Just when he was about to sit down and resign himself to being stranded on the moon, his darker self emerged from the darkness and looked at the downbeat and bloodied Sam.

"_You're pathetic,"_ his darker self said, _"You have all these powers but you don't know how to use them."_

"What the hell do you want?" Sam shouted, not in any mood to receive yet more bullshit from this twisted version of himself.

"_I'm telling you to get your fucking act together,"_ his darker self said, _"The Matrix of Leadership gifted you with powers that no other Cybertronians have. You could transform into a Cybertronian jet and fly to Earth, or you could teleport…"_

"Teleport?" Sam looked up, remembering how Jetfire had teleported him and several others all the way to Egypt from America the year before.

"_It'll leave you feeling drained and it takes a few minutes to prepare, but all you have to do is concentrate on a place you know on Earth and you'll end up there…theoretically. It's an unpredictable means of travel and something could go wrong…Every time you do it, you simply take a few hundred thousand years off your life. There's also the chance of materializing in a solid chunk of something and dying horribly. Or you could wind up way off your intended target. That's why I'd only do it if I really needed to."_

"I just need to concentrate? That's all?" Sam stood up, noticing that far off in the distance, Centurion was on his way. He could tell that his darker self was only helping him tap into these powers because these would further ensure that Sam ended up like him. Still, he had no other option.

"_You'll work it out,"_ his darker self said, _"It's buried underneath all the other information the Matrix forced into you."_

Closing his optics, Sam began to concentrate. He needed to find the Autobots and they had last been at the Sector Eight facility in Twin Falls, so he figured he would go there. Hopefully they were still there and if not, at least he would be back on Earth.

As the energy began to build up and flare around Sam, he could feel a strange tingling sensation overtake him. Centurion was racing towards him, anger crossing his jagged metal features as he saw what was about to happen.

* * *

Twin Falls, Idaho, was a quaint little town. At the moment it was about midday and the streets were packed with people heading about on their daily business. The Sector Eight facility was about two miles outside of the town and had since been abandoned after all that had occurred hours before.

Within a post office, there was a sudden flare up of blue energy, sending papers flying around and scaring the hell out of the few civilians inside. Sam Witwicky materialized within the centre of it all, leaving a smoking and scorched hole in the floor. All over he could feel a burning sensation, one that made him scream but it lasted only a moment before dissipating. As the people nearby saw him and either began to scream or run away, Sam Witwicky slowly rose to his feet. He looked around, feeling the warmth of the sun upon his metal frame and the feeling of the air around him…he was on Earth, thank God for that. He felt strangely tired, as if drained of all energy. He stumbled out onto the street, having to lean on a nearby tree in order to balance himself. Around his civilians began to run away while some began to take pictures. A few cars smashed into each other nearby, their drivers distracted by the spectacle of the sudden arrival of the ex-human.

Sam did not care much for them, he just needed to work out where he was. Ahead was a shop marked the "Twin Falls Greengrocer" so he assumed that he was in the town of Twin Falls and not actually in the Sector Eight facility outside of it. Where he was supposed to go next was anyone's guess as he had never been in this town in his life.

He started across the street, ignoring the frightened screams of some of the female pedestrians. A black SUV, one that looked strangely familiar, had pulled up to the pedestrian crossing. Sam started along the crossing, trying his best to ignore the screaming civilians and those that had started taking pictures of him. He was still obeying the road rules, limping along the pedestrian crossing. It occurred to him there was not much point in following the rules anymore, not when so much chaos had erupted around him.

He took a look around him as he crossed the road, so many thoughts flying through his head. How often could he teleport? If he felt like shit after every time he did it then he doubted he would try it again. He still burned all over. If he was going to end up miles off target as well then he would not be trying it again, lest he materialize in the wall of a building or something.

His gaze went to the black SUV waiting at the crossing. He froze, his optics meeting with the eyes of Colonel Francis Weller.

"Motherfucker," Weller muttered, flooring the accelerator. Sam had little chance to react before the SUV collided with him, sending him into a daze and sending pain shooting through him. Sam clung to the bars at the front of the SUV as it pushed him along, slamming him into the brick wall of a building ahead. The force of the impact knocked part of the wall inwards and buried Sam under a pile of bricks, leaving the ex-human in even more pain and in a somewhat confused state.

When would the pain end? Sam began to clamber out from underneath the bricks, unable to believe his luck. Of all the people he could have ran into and he quite literally bumps into Colonel Weller. It was one thing after another, never any breaks in between. Sam managed to emerge from underneath the bricks, dirty and beaten but otherwise still alive. He tried to start running but instead, in his dazed state, slumped against a shelf within the shop he found himself in. Weller was out of the SUV, followed by Sarah Taylor who was looking a bit worse for wear. Without fear Weller tackled Sam to the ground, hitting him in the face with the butt-end of his pistol.

Sam was unprepared for the ferocity of the man's attack and was too exhausted to fight it off, copping blow after blow, being knocked further and further into a dazed state. Finally Sam could barely focus on anything, let alone fight off his attacker. He instead looked forward to the brief respite a state of unconsciousness would grant him.

"What are we going to do with him?" Taylor asked, watching as Weller began to drag the heavy ex-human towards the back of the SUV.

"We're taking him with us, Major," Weller said, quite unable to believe his luck, "We got the Spear, now we got this big boy…I'd say our next stop is Maracaibo, Venezuela."


	30. Welcome to Venezuela

**Welcome to Venezuela  
**December 17th, 2010  
Somewhere outside of Maracaibo, Venezuela

The sensation of slipping between dimensions and then slipping back in, just at a different location, was an odd one. There were all sorts of logarithms and physics involved when one teleported, or as the Cybertronians called it, built a "space-bridge". In a layman's way of describing it, it worked something like this: the one enacting the "space-bridge" tore a rift in one dimension that looped back into it, only at an entirely different location. It gave the impression of instantaneous travel, as time did not exist in the space between dimensions. It also felt strange to those travelling through it, as they were broken down into their component atoms and reassembled on the other side of the "space-bridge", resulting in a very brief instant where the travellers did not actually exist in the logical sense. The ride itself, or at least the one Grimlock had created, was incredibly rough. To a Cybertronian like Deadeye, it felt as if someone had filled his energon lines with molten lava. To a human like Major William Lennox, it felt as if he had a severe case of pins and needles across his entire body. The sensation itself did not last very long and was quickly overridden by the incredibly rough landing.

In a spot of rainforest outside of a small town, there was a sudden flash of light. Deadeye was the first to be deposited, being sent flying about twenty metres where he landed painfully amongst some trees. Ratchet, Sideswipe and Optimus soon followed, being tossed aside like ragdolls, landing in various positions across the rainforest clearing. Lennox, Epps and Winters were next, being thrown about the epicentre of the landing and coming to rest amongst the long grass of the clearings. Finally, Grimlock arrived, landing in a heap in the centre of it all, slowly rising to his feet and taking a look around, he simply shook his head at the rough landing.

Deadeye stumbled into the clearing, picking the leaves and branches off of his frame. His gaze went to Grimlock, his metal features creased into a frown of annoyance. Nearby, Lennox, Epps and Winters were getting on their feet, with Lennox finding that part of his assault rifle had been melted during the trip somehow. He tossed it onto the ground, the weapon now useless. He gazed at their surroundings: a forest clearing, surrounded by trees but with the audible sounds of traffic emanating from somewhere close by. It certainly did not look like they were in Idaho anymore.

"Where the hell are we?" Lennox asked, exchanging glances with Epps, "Is this Venezuela?" He looked towards Grimlock, trying to get the old Cybertronian's attention. "Hey, Grimlock, where are we?"

"Don't bother talking to him, Major," Deadeye said, stepping forwards, "He doesn't speak English."

"Great," Lennox said, looking at the rest of the group, "We're stuck in a foreign country with a robot that doesn't speak English. How do we even know if this is Venezuela?"

"I would try and pinpoint our location," Deadeye said, "But the entire global communications network is down. It's probably the Decepticon's doing."

There was a long silence as they all tried to think about what to do now. If they were in Venezuela then it did not look like they were near any place particularly important, save for the town that was close by. If Grimlock knew where to go he was not showing it at the moment, preferring to check his rusting parts and make sure no more bits of him fell off.

"We could be in Nigeria for all we know," Epps said. There was an old wooden shed at the far edge of the clearing and Epps started for it, walking over and pushing open the rotting wooden door. While he searched the shed for clues as to their location, Deadeye turned his attention to Optimus who was standing nearby. Ratchet was busy checking over the injuries the Prime had received during the battle, going about his work in his usual business-like manner.

Optimus' gaze went to Deadeye. He kept it neutral, despite the hint of something more in his eyes.

"Deadeye," Optimus said, getting the youngster's attention, "I want to know something…"

"What?" Deadeye asked, barely interested.

"I want to know why you're like this, why you're so apprehensive towards me…"

"I thought you knew," Deadeye scoffed, "But obviously you haven't been paying enough attention to your own son. You want to know why?"

There was a pause. Optimus simply nodded, narrowing his gaze as Deadeye replied.

"It's because you were always holding me back," Deadeye explained, "It's because, that every time I wanted to prove myself, you wouldn't let me. You were afraid I'd get myself killed, you were afraid that I was too reckless for my own good. I was willing to help out in the war but instead you'd relegate me to the harmless tasks. And now, after having not seen me at all for such a long time, you don't actually seem very happy. In fact, you don't seem to care at all. A simple 'hello' would have sufficed."

"I was holding you back?" Optimus shook his head. "I was never holding you back…"

"Don't deny it," Deadeye snapped, "I was perhaps the best shot out of most of the Autobots, if not all of them. Yet every time I offered to go on reconnaissance or assist in a firefight or something like that, you would tell me to simply take shelter somewhere and wait it out. It's as if you didn't want me to gain that much needed experience. And now, when we finally reunite, you don't seem too excited. So you know: it's great to see you again, _father_. Maybe you could return the favour?"  
Lennox stood nearby, watching and listening the exchange curiously. He had not expected Optimus of all the Autobots to be the one with family issues, but he supposed that even the best of them had flaws. He gulped down the contents of his water canteen as he listened, watching Deadeye: he certainly resembled Optimus to some extent, especially when it came to the eyes.

"I thought I had lost you," Optimus said, his tone faltering if only slightly, "I'd already lost enough of those close to me during the war. I didn't want to lose you."

"Is that what you were afraid of? Losing me?" Deadeye shook his head. "You held me back simply because you didn't want me to get killed? I can understand that, but I don't think my personal growth should be limited simply because you have issues. I'm independent, something which you probably never wanted to happen. You still want me to obey you like a dog or something, just like I used to when I was a lot younger, a kid growing up on war-torn Cybertron. That's probably what you don't understand: I grew up when there was a war going on. I saw death and destruction nearly every day. You didn't. You're different because of that. I'm not afraid of death, I just want to be able to prove myself. That's why I went to help you with Centurion. That's why I'm still alive, since I can look after myself."

"Well, someone has daddy issues," Winters quipped from behind Lennox. The Major nodded.

"It's funny: I never thought robots could have families," Lennox replied.

"They're not quite robots, Major," Winters said, stepping forwards. Nearby, Epps had emerged from the shed holding a yellowed old newspaper.

"I didn't know you felt that way," Optimus began, "I thought…"

"You thought I would remain forever tied to my father, taking his words as divine truth? Yeah, right. I'm the son of a Prime, I'm supposed to inherit the responsibilities…That's what you're afraid of. You're afraid that if I become a bit more powerful than you, I might consider overthrowing my own father. Yeah, well, I never thought about that back in the days of the war on Cybertron. Being a leader never really appealed to me. But now, now when there are so few of us left, can we really afford to keep going along as if this is just like the war on Cybertron?" Deadeye paused for a moment, thinking of where he was going with this. He looked to Ratchet and Sideswipe, then to Grimlock.

"How many have we lost so far since Centurion showed up?" Deadeye asked them, although it was more of a rhetorical question so he was not expecting an answer. "We've lost Ironhide…I looked up to him, I did. I considered Ironhide practically my uncle…And we lost Bumblebee. He and I grew up together. Learning of his death hurt me just as much as it hurt all of you. And we lost Depthcharge…Now, I personally didn't know Depthcharge that well but he was perhaps the best strategist out of all of us. He could have helped us in a lot of ways…"

"What are you doing, Deadeye?" Optimus asked, frowning. He could tell that the stress of the situation was finally getting to his son. Deadeye seemed on the verge of a breakdown.

"I'm doing what should have been done a long time ago," Deadeye said, "I'm taking command. You're no longer fit for it."

Optimus was stunned and said nothing, letting Deadeye continue talking. The Prime seemed at a loss on what to say, something that was a definite rarity for him.

"Optimus has been treating this war on Earth just like the one on Cybertron," Deadeye said, his voice taking on a somewhat more passionate tone, "He thinks we can win it just like we did on Cybertron. The thing is, this is a different war we're raging now. We're fighting Centurion, the most ruthless and powerful enemy we've gone up against. I almost defeated him, when he and I were teleported here years ago. If it wasn't for me, Unicron would have been released and the universe would have been destroyed already."

"You can't do this, Deadeye," Optimus said, "We're supposed to be working together. That's the only way we're going to defeat Centurion…"

"You're outdated, father," Deadeye said, "You're tactics, you're approach to taking on Centurion…No wonder we've lost so many, because our leader is hopelessly inept…"

"Think about what you're saying," Optimus said, "You're crossing a line that very few return from…"

"I don't care!" Deadeye seemed about to laugh as he said this. Lennox, Epps and Winters watched the conversation, none of them particularly sure on what they should do about it.

"Lennox, I found a year old newspaper written in Spanish," Epps said, showing him the old newspaper, "So I'd say we're in Venezuela."

"Do you think we should intervene?" Lennox asked, nodding towards the growing confrontation between Optimus and Deadeye.

"And do what?" Epps looked up, raising an eyebrow.

"I have no idea…"

Optimus could hardly believe what was happening, especially so soon after what Centurion had said to him. It was as if it was coming true, as if Centurion had predicted it would happen…it was chilling to think that the madman was right about Deadeye and Optimus' concerns about him.

"I'm going to take charge now, father," Deadeye said, "And you're going to let me…"

"This isn't the right way to go about this," Optimus said, "We can work together…"

"That's not possible, not with you," Deadeye replied, meeting eyes with his father's, "You'll relegate me to the background, as you've always done in the past. Well, that's not going to happen. I'm going to be at the forefront of it all and I'm going to make sure we beat Centurion. You're going to take orders from me, for once."

"As I said, the reason I was so protective of you was because I didn't want to lose you!" Optimus exclaimed, having done his best to hide his emotions. He had become a master at it since the Autobot-Decepticon war had begun, having seen so many friends die that he was practically hardened to it all now.

Deadeye had taken out one of his side-arms, using his left hand to point it squarely in Optimus' face.

"I don't want to argue with you anymore," Deadeye said, his tone sullen, "We're going to do things my way this time, not yours. I've taken enough orders from you in the past."

The others were suitably surprised to see Deadeye pointing a gun at his own father. It was obvious that Deadeye was suitably more emotional than Optimus which probably did explain his more reckless nature.

"Would you really shoot your own father, Deadeye?" Ratchet asked, stepping forwards. Deadeye used his free hand to pull out his other gun, pointing this one at Ratchet.

"I'll do whatever it takes," Deadeye replied. Ratchet remained still, seeing the gun pointed his way and the seriousness in Deadeye's gaze. He was not joking when he said he would do "whatever it took".

"Deadeye, son…" Optimus trailed off, trying to think of what he was going to say, as if it were difficult or painful to remember. "You're the only family I have left. I could not bear to lose you."

"Just because you have issues," Deadeye snapped, "That doesn't mean you hold me back."

"You never knew your mother…She was the one who insisted we have offspring. The war was at its height then, so I was against the idea, to raise a son or daughter in a war ravaged environment…" Optimus shook his head. Deadeye had never heard his father speak of his mother and the youngster had never bothered to ask, primarily because it was quite obviously a painful memory for the Prime to dredge up.

"So you didn't want to have me?" Deadeye asked. He laughed. "That I can understand, coming from you."

"She died a month after you were born," Optimus said, "You're the only thing I have left that reminds me of her. If you're going to shoot me, son, do it. Don't keep me waiting."

There was a long silence. Deadeye gradually lowered both of his weapons, shaking his head. If robots could cry then Deadeye would probably be doing just that right about now. Lennox felt relieved that the standoff was coming to an end: the last thing they needed right now was a few of the Autobots killing each other when the real enemy was Centurion.

"I was the only one left to raise you," Optimus continued, "I tried my best, despite the circumstances. I know it must have been hard on you, growing up in a war ravaged environment, no mother and constantly exposed to the death and suffering going on around you. I wanted to ensure that nothing happened to you, that you survived so that if anything did happen to me you would be able to take my place as Prime. You are my son, after all. Being a leader may not be very appealing, but it is my, and your, responsibility. When you vanished that day when we tried to capture Centurion, I almost lost faith in gaining victory. The quest for the All-spark was the only thing that kept me going and the responsibility of protecting the humans renewed faith in myself. Now that you're back, you could say that the part of me that was missing has returned."

"Way to be sentimental, father," Deadeye said with a slight grin, stowing away both of his weapons.

"Thank God that's over!" Winters exclaimed, "I was afraid you two would kill each other. That's all we need: another couple of dead Autobots."

Epps tossed aside the outdated newspaper, looking around before resting his gaze on Lennox.

"Where do we go now?" He asked.

"I don't know. Grimlock probably does but he doesn't speak English." Lennox paused, before adding: "That's…not very helpful."

Optimus looked into the optics of his son and for once felt somewhat proud of him. Obviously, Deadeye was troubled but that was understandable. He had grown up in the midst of a war, it was all he had ever really known.

"So…who's in charge then?" Deadeye asked.

"We all work together," Optimus replied, "That way there does not have to be a distinct 'leader'."

"Uh-huh," Deadeye said, unconvinced, "What I think we should do is actually get to where we need to be first. Grimlock knows the way, so hopefully he'll take us there."

The Autobots looked at Grimlock, who had been waiting around for the confrontation to end. He looked at the others and nodded to them to follow him, pushing through the forest nearby and emerging on a highway. The drivers of the oncoming cars saw him step onto the road, causing many to swerve and smash and otherwise get totalled. Grimlock barely seemed to notice, continuing across the highway and towards what were the outskirts of the city of Maracaibo.

"I really think we should lay low," Epps said, following the others as they moved in the wake of Grimlock, "If the entire communications network is down, then the Venezuelans will have their military out to try and maintain order. The last thing we need is to get in trouble with the Venezuelan military."

Lennox nodded in agreement, although he could do little to stop the Autobots as they raced after the enthusiastic Grimlock.

Across the open grassy areas prior to where the outskirts came up, a military checkpoint had been set up at one of the roads in response to the crisis that had fallen across most of the planet. With no communications network, the world's militaries had been forced to rely on older style means of communications, including runners who carried messengers. Upon seeing the incoming Cybertronians, one Venezuelan soldier was given the task of running the message over to the headquarters in the city.

Lennox, Epps and Winters arrived at where Grimlock and the Autobots had stopped, laying low as the old Cybertronian scoped out the city. He looked confused for a moment, as if his memory was not serving him correctly…

That was until the military vehicles including Jeeps and armoured personnel carriers appeared, speeding down the hills and surrounding the group.

"Guys! Transform!" Lennox shouted, pulling out his sidearm and going for cover. Optimus, Sideswipe, Ratchet and Deadeye went to transform. Grimlock, on the other hand, could not revert to his disguise since not only would it be useless (it was a tyrannosaurus), but his transformation ability had since stopped working anyway.

Dozens of Venezuelan soldiers started flowing out of the vehicles, taking up positions around the group and readying their weapons. Epps and Winters went for cover while Lennox took aim at the nearest soldier.

An order must have went out since one of the APCs, this one with a rocket launcher mounted on top, opened fire. A missile swept through the air, slamming into Grimlock's front and blowing a scorched hole straight through him. He fell into a heap nearby, twitching but otherwise no longer in a proper working state.

"Damn it!" Lennox shouted. He went to return fire but he could see that if he did, he and the others would not stand a chance against so many hostiles.

A Venezuelan military officer in a typical light brown uniform appeared at the head of the attack force, holding a megaphone to his mouth.

"_Attention, invaders! We have you surrounded! Surrender and no more shall be harmed!"_ The officer sounded smug, as if he knew that he had the group trapped.

"Whatever you do, Autobots, don't transform back," Lennox said. He stood up, walking out of cover with his hands raised. He was taking a grave risk but there was no point in fighting, not if it meant they would all die. They were the only ones who had been in a position to stop Centurion…now they were surrounded by a superior force of the Venezuelan military.

"Lennox, what are you doing?" Epps asked in disbelief.

"Surrendering," Lennox replied, "I suggest you do the same."

Epps sighed, threw down his rifle and followed Lennox. Winters reluctantly threw down his weapon and followed as well.

The officer, who beared the insignia of a General, smiled as the trio of human approached. He lowered the megaphone and took a good look at each of them.

"You and your alien friends are not welcome in this country," the General said, "Of course, now that you're here, I suppose you could be used as leverage when dealing with the United States. I'm sure they'll be quite concerned to find that a good portion of their alien assets have stupidly stumbled into this country without permission."

As the nearby soldiers handcuffed the three NEST soldiers, Lennox managed a look back at where the transformed Autobots remained. They were already being swarmed by soldiers. Lennox shook his head but said or did nothing more.

* * *

On Diego Garcia, General Morshower was within the command centre as attempts were made to get some sort of communications up and running again. The global network had been completely neutralized, rendering nearly every sort of communications technology they had useless. It was not possible to get in touch with Lennox and find out what he and his group were doing, nor was it possible to get into contact with the United States. The situation was dire and as such the General had placed the entire island on high alert. The only sort of communications tool they had that was functioning was the island's secure landline used for communication around the island but little else.

Some of the technicians had rigged up an old Morse code machine to transmit messages to the military outpost in India where they could be relayed along to America. It would take some time to get an effective conversation going, but for now it was their only link to the outside world. The few reports they had received indicated that things were the same in most other places, with some having found that older style technology, such as transistor radios, seemed to work. Anything that was not directly networked functioned to some extent, although finding something that was not on some sort of global network was near impossible nowadays.

There was no doubt in his mind that the Decepticons were responsible. They were up to something if they found they needed to take down the entire global communications network. With the sort of chaos that would cause, the Decepticons were effectively free to do whatever they wanted wherever they wanted. It was a chilling thought and one Morshower wanted to rectify as soon as possible. The technicians here were trying to find a way to get around what was undoubtedly a virus that had been uploaded into a military satellite in orbit. From there it had spread to virtually every communications device across the planet. The reports that had been received indicated that riots had broken out in plenty of places across the world and that some countries were taking advantage of it. Russia had sent an incursion force into Georgia, Venezuelan military forces were moving into Guyana and North Korean forces were crossing the demilitarised zone into South Korea. Things were a complete and utter mess without the network up and running, leaving many places isolated and cut off from the rest of the world. Diego Garcia was no different.

The world was descending into chaos and the best Morshower could do was stand around the control centre and hope that the technicians worked out a way around the Decepticon virus that had crippled their systems. The Autobot anti-virus systems had done little to stop the spread of the virus. Those systems had been implemented to ensure that the Decepticons could not pull the same stunt they had pulled back in 2007, when they had taken down the United States defence grid. Unfortunately, the Autobot anti-virus systems had done little but slow down the spread of the Decepticon virus which had now crippled the entire network.

At least they still had their long range radar. Morshower's attention was diverted to this particular section of the command centre when the technician there turned around.

"General, I think you should come and see this," the technician said. Morshower walked over, peering at the radar screen. There were about a dozen blips, all marked in red with the word 'UNKNOWN' tagged to them.

"About a dozen incoming unknown contacts, sir. They don't match to anything on record. We don't have access to a satellite feed to confirm what they are, so they could be anything…" The technician sounded worried. He had every right to be with that many unknown contacts bearing down on them at what was a very quick speed. "They're moving fast, sir. They'll be in visual range in a few minutes."

Morshower walked over to where the alarm switch was. Flicking it, an alarm sounded throughout the base. He picked up a transmitter for the PA system and began to speak into it:

"Attention all personnel, this is General Morshower. Incoming bogeys are bearing down on Diego Garcia this instant. They could be anything, so everyone is to go to their appropriate stations and remain on high alert. If it is a hostile force, and it is very likely it is, those unessential personnel are to move to their assigned evacuation points."

Morshower put down the PA transmitter, turning to look at the technician again. He had been expecting something to happen the moment the global communications network went down. This was obviously that very "something". He stepped over to the nearest window, peering outside at the relatively starry night sky. There were about a dozen points in the distant, growing in size and proximity as the seconds went by.

Suddenly, there was the roar of a jet as it zoomed overhead. Morshower watched it fly over, catching a sight of the grey fuselage and the intricate alien designs that covered it. He looked over at the technician again.

"What the hell was that?" He asked.

"Unidentified F-22, sir. I have no idea how it got that close without being detected…"

"It no longer matters," Morshower said, "What does matter is the fact that we're being attacked. If the worst happens, we're going to have to activate the failsafe."

"The failsafe? What's that, sir?"

"It doesn't matter right now. We have to defend this island and if that doesn't work, then we activate the failsafe. At the moment, we should be purging all of our databases. We can't let the Decepticons get hold of the information on them."

"Yes, sir." The technician and the others nearby went to work.

Morshower went over to the inter-base phone that was nearby. He picked it up, put it to his ear and dialled the number that patched him through to the Autobot hangar. If Diego Garcia was going to be attacked then the Autobots on the island would need to help in the defence.

"This is Morshower," the General said into the phone, "I want the Autobots combat ready within the next five minutes. We're about to get attacked."

"Uh, sir…a new Morse code message just came through," a technician announced. Morshower put the phone down and walked over, picking up the transcribed message. It had since been translated from the dots and dashes of Morse code to English, making it a lot easier to read.

"Damn it," he said upon reading the message. According to what was written, Lennox's group had been seized by the Venezuelan military outside the city of Maracaibo. How the hell they had ended up in Venezuela was anyone's guess. At least now it gave the rest of the Autobots a new mission: to regroup with the ones in Lennox's group and find out just what the hell they were doing in Venezuela.

"How old is this message?" Morshower asked.

"Probably about an hour, sir," the technician replied, "It takes time for it to jump along the necessary channels."

"Then we need to get the Autobots to Venezuela," Morshower said. He picked up the island landline phone, putting it to his ear as he patched himself through to the pilots at the hangars by the runway.

"This is General Morshower," he said upon hearing a greeting from the man on the other end of the line, "I need two C-47s prepped and ready for take-off immediately. The Autobots will be leaving as soon as this attack is held off."

"_Understood, sir,"_ the head pilot on the other end of the line replied.

Morshower put the phone down and returned his gaze to the nearby window that overlooked most of the base. He knew that things were about to get very frantic. He did have long to wait before the first Decepticon came slamming down in a ball of flame at the far end of the base.


	31. The Battle for Diego Garcia

**The Battle for Diego Garcia  
**December 17th, 2010  
NEST Headquarters, Diego Garcia

James Turner had spent the last hour or so fiddling in the room NEST had supplied him with for his stay on Diego Garcia. Simmons and Jones also had bunks here as well, with Jones asleep on one while Simmons was out trying to find a place where he could score a soda. James sat at the desk in the corner of the rather basic set of living quarters, unable to shake the feeling that he, Jones and Simmons were prisoners on the island. They were not allowed to leave until NEST deemed it appropriate for them to do so and they were restricted to a certain part of the base, with the more important places strictly off limits. To top it off, a guard was posted outside the door of the cabin. He would let them wander off but he always reported their movements back to the command centre, always making sure to ask them where they were going and what they were going to do.

Jones snored loudly on the nearby bunk, curled up on the mattress in his dirtied clothes, exhausted from all that had happened in the last twenty-four hours. James had been mulling over what he and Simmons had talked about earlier, thinking that they had indeed been onto something. Their detainment here on Diego Garcia had certainly restricted what they could do, as they could no longer help Sam Witwicky. James felt annoyed to have been pulled out of the situation the way he had been, with the military having decided that a civilian like him had no place in a military operation. Still, he had wanted to see the whole thing through and he was not about to just give up simply because the military thought he should. Simmons seemed to think the same thing and had mentioned that they could try and escape, or at the very least win the favour of General Morshower and see if they could score a more direct involvement in things. NEST definitely needed all the help they could get, especially after losing a few of the Autobots and coming under attack by Sector Eight. The fact that the world was erupting into chaos because of what had occurred only added to this fact, that NEST was in need of a miracle if it was going to stay in operation and successfully thwart Centurion's plans. That was perhaps the most depressing thing: Centurion seemed unbeatable. According to what Morshower had told them, all engagement with that particular Decepticon had ended badly. Nothing could stop him and as a result of engaging him, three Autobots were dead. James refused to accept the fact that Centurion was unbeatable: there had to be a way to stop him, they just had not discovered it yet.

Simmons stepped inside the cabin, can of soda in one hand. The guard at the door closed it behind him, barely interested in the occupants. It was obvious the guard was not enjoying this particular posting, a fact that the trio might be able to use to their advantage. That was if they were going to escape, although it seemed somewhat pointless to do so now.

"Well, James," Simmons said, taking a sip from the soda can, "I managed to scope out the docks. Honestly, I don't know how we're going to pull off an escape without getting shot."

"I was just thinking about that," James said, turning around in the chair to face Simmons, "Maybe we could wait this out…"

"Wait it out?" Simmons shook his head. "The world would have ended by the time we were done 'waiting it out'. Those NEST people don't know what they're getting themselves into. At least we have some idea because of our firsthand experience. And it's likely this Unicron guy's been manipulating things for years, so if anything by 'waiting it out' we're probably going to fall right into his scheme…"

"And how can you be so sure about that?"

Simmons shrugged.

"I'm not sure," he replied, "There's no way to be sure. It just seems very likely that, if Unicron is some big, badass being capable of traversing alternate realities, then chances are he's played out the same events in hundreds of other realities, always perfecting parts of his plan in the process. He's been practicing. There's a good chance we're the reality that's going to receive the final run through of his plan, whatever that is exactly."

"Again, we can't be sure about this," James said, standing up. He snatched up a piece of paper from the desk which he had been scribbling on for the past half an hour, scrunching it up into a ball and tossing it in the direction of the waste-bin that was positioned across the room. It landed dead centre and James could only smile at the result.

"I know," Simmons added, "It's crazy to be thinking that this sort of thing could be possible. I suppose, if we've learned anything from the past twenty-four hours, then it's that anything's possible, that you should never rule out anything…"

"Such as a human being mutating into a Cybertronian?" James asked, referring to the changes Sam Witwicky had undergone.

"Yeah. If that can happen, then I suppose anything's possible."

"Which makes what we're suggesting even more concerning, since it could very well be true," James said. Simmons shrugged, not too sure on what to add to this.

"As I've said, there's no way to be sure…"

"So, if we were to try and escape," James continued, "How would we do it? Even better, where would we go?"

Simmons thought carefully about this for a moment, gulping down the last contents of his soda can before tossing the empty thing in the direction of the waste-bin. It missed by a few inches and Simmons only shook his head at this result.

"We could steal a boat from the docks," Simmons said, "And we could try heading north, to India. Or we could steal a plane and hope we don't get shot down…"

"Both those ideas are crazy," James said, frowning. Neither idea was particularly practical, as James did not know how to operate a boat or a plane. Maybe Simmons did but somehow the priest doubted it. "For starters, we'll get shot at, primarily because we'd be stealing military property. Another thing is, I don't see what good we'll do if we make it to India. From what I can recall, the action was back state-side, not in India."

"From India we catch a flight to America," Simmons said, although his faith in the plan was obviously minimal. Even he thought it was a dumb idea.

"This is stupid," James said, shaking his head.

"I know," Simmons replied, nodding in agreement, "But I honestly can't think of anything else, except waiting here for the world to end. From what I've been hearing around the place, the entire global communications network was brought down, probably by some Decepticon virus or something. The whole planet's beginning to descend into chaos."

"That just gives the Decepticons an even better opportunity to wreak havoc," James said.

"Precisely. That means we'll have even less time to try and save the world if the entire global communications network has collapsed. I mean, society's built upon that very thing. Without it, there'll be nothing but anarchy. Riots, marshal law, that sort of thing. So I suppose staying here is a great way to keep out of trouble, but it leaves us with hardly anything to do."

"I'm not going to stay here and wait things out," James said, determined to see things through. It seemed a bit hopeless though, especially with the predicament they found themselves in.

"Then what do you suggest we do?" Simmons asked.

At that moment, an alarm sounded. It was loud enough to wake Jones, who sat up sharply in bed and hit his head on the bottom of the bunk above him.

"Jesus Christ!" He shouted, rubbing his head. James and Simmons were suddenly alert now as well as the General's voice chimed in over the announcement system, telling everyone about the incoming unknown contacts. They were all to go to their assigned combat stations. Jones heard this and looked over at James and Simmons, frowning.

"Yeah, so everybody else has an assigned place," he said, "What about us? What do we do? Do we just sit here and wait to get blown up?"

Jones had a good point. They were probably the only civilians on the base, making them the only people with no idea as to where they were supposed to go when the alarm began to wail. At that moment, the guard outside pushed open the door and walked in, regarding the three of them carefully.

"Non-combat personnel are to proceed to the evacuation zone," the guard said, "I'll escort you there."

Simmons exchanged glances with James. At least now they would not need to risk their lives in some futile escape attempt. The guard started off, with the trio following him into the dark outside. Around them soldiers were racing around while red lights flashed. Up above, several burning streaks, practically meteor-like in appearance, shot across the sky. One of them slammed into a building across the runway, obliterating it and sending the soldiers near it flying. Out of the flames rose as black and grey Decepticon, both arms in weapon mode as it opened fire onto the human soldiers. Chain gun rounds ripped through people, tearing them limb from limb. It began to unload into a passing Jeep, filling it full of holes before the Jeep itself detonated into a large column of flame.

Seeing this, James, Simmons and Jones faltered. The guard escorting them stopped, rifle raised as he let off a few shots in the direction of the Decepticon. Another one of the flaming "meteors" slammed into a cabin a short distance away, making the ground shake and sending debris raining down all around. Rising up from the wreckage was another one of the ordinary Decepticon soldiers, one arm transformed into an energy cannon. It fired, the blue ball of energy slamming into the ground and letting forth an obliterating energon wave which consumed everything in its path. A few parked Jeeps and SUVs were sent flying, tailing fire while the soldiers caught with the wave were vaporized.

The guard escorting the trio of civilians took a detour in between some of the nearby cabins. James, Jones and Simmons followed, passing by NEST soldiers who were desperately trying to set up defences. Another Decepticon "meteor" slammed into the large warehouse-type building up ahead, obliterating a good portion. The Decepticon soldier within stood up from the flames and opened fire with dual chain-guns. A nearby soldier had a Javelin launcher, managing to let off a rocket which zoomed through the air and collided with the Decepticon's front. It knocked the Decepticon backwards, the creature emitting a pained metallic groan as it fell with a burning hole in its chest.

The command centre was further up ahead, complete with control tower. Unfortunately, another of the Decepticon pods collided with the control tower, completely blasting away the top of the tower before going straight through and hitting the ground nearby. By now the battle was in full swing, with several Decepticon soldiers having landed while Starscream flew high above in his jet form, letting off a salvo of missiles that took out one of the island's SAM sites.

Whatever form of peace had been upon the island had all but vanished within minutes. The guard lead the trio of civilians past the command centre, the Decepticon here being engaged by a pair of M1 Abrams tanks that came rumbling from around a corner. Both opened fire from their main guns, the shells colliding and exploding upon the Decepticon, making it fall backwards with two gaping and burning holes in its torso. It groaned in pain, trying to get back on its feet as the tanks let loose with their fifty calibre machine guns. They pummelled the downed Decepticon mercilessly, the burning sabot rounds melting through its armour. However, from above Starscream shot overhead and let loose with a pair of large bombs.

"Get down!" The guard screamed. James, Jones and Simmons hit the dirt as the napalm canisters struck, sending a wave of flame swirling forwards across the tanks. The gunner on one jumped off of his perch, screaming as flames erupted all over him. The tank crews were forced to abandon the flaming tanks, although none of them survived the trip out outside, getting set alight by the swirling flames.

Jones had to pat out a fire that had started on the sleeve of his shirt as the others rose to their feet. Unfortunately, the guard who had been escorting them lay dead with a narrow metal pylon jutting out of his skull. James looked down at the sickening sight, figuring that the pylon had been sent flying from a building damaged during the strike.

"What the hell do we do now?" Jones screamed. Around them the sounds of battle were intense, with weapons fire, shouts and explosions adding to an almost deafening cacophony of noise. The Decepticon that had been gunned down nearby was beginning to move, something that Simmons noticed and was immediately unnerved.

"Calm down, that's what _you_ have to do," James said, noticing that Jones seemed to be bordering on a nervous breakdown. Too much in one day had happened to the young man, that was for sure. "We have to get off of this island…"

He looked around, noticing the door into the command centre behind them. Stepping up to it, he pushed it open and found that the control room beyond was being abandoned. Technicians were packing up folders and paperwork while one man went about with an axe, smashing up the computers even though the databases had already been purged. One could never be too sure, it seemed. A pair of soldiers raced in through another door holding a stretcher between them. On the stretcher lay a soldier covered in burns, moaning pitifully as he was carted over to an already developing triage in the corner of the large room. One lone medic was struggling to cope with the influx of wounded, his task made even more difficult by the close proximity of the battle.

General Morshower was near a collapsed part of the room, pushing aside a fallen pylon and revealing the bloodied corpse of a technician. James walked in, Jones and Simmons following. They were barely taken any notice of by the others who were too busy to really worry about the three civilians that had just entered the command centre.

A technician raced up to Morshower, a concerned look on his face.

"Sir, the pilots just sent word that there are two C-47s ready to take-off at the main runway," the technician said, "It's just that the enemy is between here and there."

"Send word to the Autobots," Morshower replied, "They need to take those planes and get to Venezuela. They should be able to clear a path for any non-combat personnel to get on the planes as well. In the meantime, I have to activate the failsafe…"

James stepped forwards upon hearing this, frowning.

"Failsafe?" He asked. Morshower and the technician looked at him. The General did not seem to care that the three civilians had found their way into the command centre and simply regarded them with his usual stern, yet neutral, gaze.

"Mr. Turner, you and your friends should be trying to get on those planes," Morshower said, walking up to the priest, "They're currently the only real means of getting off of this island."

"But what the hell is this 'failsafe'?" James asked, refusing to leave the matter alone.

"The nature of what goes on at Diego Garcia, especially when it comes to the Autobots and our own research projects, has made it imperative that we protect what secrets we have here," Morshower explained, "Under no circumstances is this base to fall to the enemy, whatever that enemy may be."

"So this failsafe…It's going to destroy the entire base?" Simmons asked, "But that's crazy…Not everyone could be evacuated in time."

"That's just one of the sacrifices that are going to have be made tonight," Morshower replied, sounding resigned to his fate, "Once the Autobots are away the base will be destroyed. We can't let the Decepticons gain a foothold here, especially with the global communications network down."

Morshower reached into a pocket in his trousers, removing a pair of keys. He gave one to James. Behind him, the last of the technicians were leaving. Something exploded close by outside, making a part of the ceiling near the main entrance fall in. A fire burned in one corner of the room, the smell of smoke pungent on the nostrils.

"Since my second-in-command's dead, I need someone else to help me activate the failsafe," Morshower said, "You seem like you're willing to help."

"What?"

"Just follow me," Morshower said, starting for a door in the corner. James shrugged, gripping the key he had been given and following the General to the door. Jones and Simmons followed. At the door, the General entered a combination into the keypad, unlock the door and pushing it open. Beyond was a staircase that lead underground, one that Morshower started down and thus incited the others to follow.

The stairs went on for a fair distance before coming to a stop in a dank cavernous space. In the centre of the small room was a large cylindrical thing with panels and flashing lights. A radiation hazard sticker was slapped on the side. It did not take much to determine what it really was.

"A nuke?" James asked, "But that's…"

"It's only a tactical nuke, low yield," Morshower said, "And it's underground enough to destabilize the surface above and create a massive cave in and most likely incinerate the whole of Diego Garcia. Now, if we can fight back the Decepticons and reclaim the island then I'll end the countdown remotely. However, we still have to start it. That's why I need another man to help me do it."

He stepped up to a panel on one end of the bomb where a keyhole was, located beneath a small computer terminal. There was an identical setup at the other end of the bomb. Morshower directed James to stand there.

"On the count of three, put the key in the keyhole, turn it left until you hear a click and then turn it right all the way around. From there we'll have ten seconds to enter the code on the terminal above the keyhole. That code is A-09F67. Can you remember that?" Morshower asked, frowning.

"Uh, yeah, I can. A-09F67."

"If we screw up, the system will lock us out and we won't be able to activate the bomb."

"Okay…don't screw up, no pressure…"

Morshower positioned his key near the keyhole, as did James.

"On the count of three…One…two…" He jabbed in the key. "Three!"

James followed suit, turning the key left and then right all the way around. The computer terminal before him had a change of display, asking for a verification code. Immediately, James began to enter it. Morshower did the same and once this was achieved, a time appeared on the display. It was at twenty-five minutes and counting down. Breathing a sigh of relief, James stepped back from the bomb.

"Well, we have twenty-five minutes to get to those C-47s and hope the Decepticons haven't destroyed them," Morshower said, starting back up the stairs.

"That's a big hope," Simmons said as he, Jones and James began to follow the General.

* * *

Smokescreen had received his orders from one of the technicians Morshower had sent his way: they had about half an hour, maybe less, to get to the C-47 planes waiting for them on the runway and get off of the island before it went up in flames. The other Autobots here included Chromia, Firestar, Jolt and the Twins. They had since fought their way out of their hangar, finding that most of the island had become a battleground. Fires raged in places while the human defence forces tried desperately to fend off the Decepticons that had landed across the island. From where Smokescreen stood, he could look over the low buildings and towards the distant runway. Both C-47 planes sat at the start of the runway, defended by only a few Jeeps and several soldiers. However, the Decepticons seemed preoccupied elsewhere on the island to really concern themselves with both planes. At the docks Smokescreen could see several boats leaving, carrying with them mostly non-combat personnel.

"We've got to get off of this damn island," Chromia said, rolling up alongside him. A human tank rumbled by, its cannon firing at a distant Decepticon. That Decepticon was hit in the head with the high velocity shell, being knocked backwards with half of its head missing.

Smokescreen took the initiative and started forwards, looking up to find that Starscream was still zooming around in his jet form, occasionally letting fly with missiles. There was no way the C-47s would be able to take off with that bastard flying around, so Smokescreen decided to try and get the airborne Decepticon's attention.

Smokescreen let fly with a pair of missiles, both of which locked on and trailed behind Starscream. The Decepticon jet released a bunch of flares which sent the missiles trailing off course, spiralling away harmlessly. However, this was enough to get Starscream's attention, with the Decepticon turning around and opening fire with both of his jet form's cannons. The other Autobots scattered for cover while Smokescreen stood his ground, knowing full well that what he was about to do would be perhaps the craziest thing he had ever done in his life, but knowing that if he could successfully bring down Starscream than getting off of the island would be a lot easier.

Nearby, a Decepticon soldier appeared from around a corner, opening fire with his energy cannon. Chromia and Firestar were the first to return fire but their small arms weapons did little damage to the heavily armoured Decepticon soldier. An energy blast collided with Smokescreen's side, sending pain shooting through him. He ignored it, his concentration on the incoming Starscream. He started to run, his gaze fixed on the airborne Decepticon as it screamed towards him…

Smokescreen jumped, his hand grabbing onto Starscream's right wing and surprising the Decepticon completely. Starscream went to pull up, carrying Smokescreen with him who had to dig his fingers into the Decepticon jet's wing in order to stop himself from losing his grip and falling.

Starscream emitted a very annoyed grunt as he pulled up, Smokescreen getting a hold on the underbelly of the Decepticon jet with his other hand. Looking down, Smokescreen realized that he was being carried up high as Starscream continued to climb, faster and higher, leaving behind the battle of Diego Garcia for now.

"Get off of me, you fool!" Starscream shouted, transforming mid air. Smokescreen's grip was shifted as the Decepticon changed form, ending their speedy climb to the heavens and instead beginning a disorienting freefall.

Smokescreen kept his grip, this time on Starscream's sides as the pair began to tumble back down to Earth. Starscream was suitably more used to freefalling than Smokescreen was, as the Autobot was feeling genuinely frightened of the fate that he would meet when he hit the ground. Perhaps this was what fuelled his determination even more as he delivered a sharp punch to Starscream's face, sending energon fluid flying out of the Decepticon's mouth. They began to wrestle with one another as they plummeted, with Smokescreen rolling the two of them around so that it was Starscream who was beneath him.

Smokescreen pulled out his right forearm's blade, bringing it up in a ready motion only for Starscream to grab his sword wielding arm with both hands in order to fend off the incoming blow. Smokescreen brought the blade down, gritting his metal teeth as he had to use all of his strength to bring the blade to Starscream's throat. The Decepticon made eye contact and for a moment Smokescreen thought he saw a hint of fear in Starscream's optics, only for this to become a blank stare as Smokescreen cleaved the blade through half of Starscream's neck. Energon spilled out and the Decepticon's grip on the Autobot weakened, seconds before they hit the surface of the ocean. The impact felt like a collision with solid ground, although Starscream suffered through the brunt of it as he was beneath Smokescreen. With cold water surrounding them, Smokescreen pulled his blade free from Starscream's neck and with his other hand grabbed the dying Decepticon by the head, tearing it off from the rest of the neck before swimming up to the surface.

Climbing upon the shore of Diego Garcia, Smokescreen put away his blade and took a careful look at Starscream's dismembered head. With little more than the robotic equivalent of a grin, he tossed the head aside and left it to sit on the sand of the shore, its blank red optics staring lifelessly ahead.

Some distance from the pair of C-47s, Smokescreen found that most of the Autobots had made it to the parked planes. However, Skids and Mudflap, the Autobot Twins, had become besieged amongst the wreckage of a hangar as a trio of Decepticon soldiers fired on their positions. Smokescreen had worked his way around the side, only a short distance from the parked planes. He recognized some of the humans racing aboard, including James, Jones, Simmons and General Morshower. By now the battle was winding down, with a few of the remaining Decepticon soldiers walking around and obliterating the last remnants of human resistance.

There was a human at the ramp leading onto one of the C-47s, shouting at the people clambering on board to hurry up. He looked towards Smokescreen, gesturing for the Autobot to follow.

"Come on, damn it! We've got to get out of here, now!"

"What about the Twins?" Smokescreen asked, unable to quite believe that they were being left.

"There's no time to save them. Now come on!"

Smokescreen refused to simply leave behind a pair of fellow Autobots, even if the Twins had always been the annoying type. Opening a communications link with them, he stood between where the Twins were pinned down and the C-47 that was moments away from starting its take-off.

"Skids, Mudflap! Why the hell aren't you at the planes?" Smokescreen demanded.

"_We're stuck! These Decepticon fools have us surrounded!"_

"I'm going to come and get you two," Smokescreen said, "Just stay put…"

"_No way, man,"_ Skids replied, _"You'll get stuck here too! We'll keep them off your back, just get to the planes!"_

"I'm not leaving you two…"

_"Damn it, bro, just go! Run! Go! Get to the plane!"_

Chromia appeared at the rear of the C-47, yelling at Smokescreen to come on board. Torn between what was either survival or going down in a blaze of glory, Smokescreen chose to survive. He did not want to delay the others escape any longer, transforming into vehicle mode and driving up the ramp at the rear of the C-47. With this done, the last of the human soldiers stepped on board and the ramps of both C-47s began to rise. Both planes started to speed along the runway, heading for take-off.

General Morshower sat nearby, glancing at the remote device he held in one hand. It could end the countdown of the nuke or it could detonate it prematurely. As far as he could tell, most of the combat personnel had been killed and the survivors were on these planes…what few they were, weary and dirty and bloodied. It hurt to say goodbye to Diego Garcia but then again, NEST had been put out of operation earlier on anyway. The Autobots would have been separated and sent to other countries for study. That was something that Morshower did not want to happen and an attack like this was as good an excuse as any.

The timer on the remote device struck some concern in him.

"We've only got seven minutes," he announced, "We're certainly cutting it close…"

James, Jones and Simmons sat across from Morshower, while soldiers took up the other seats. The Autobots, with Chromia, Jolt, Firestar and Smokescreen on this C-47, took up most of the space. It was a surprise the C-47 even took off with all the weight. The other C-47 followed closely behind.

Morshower fingered the "abort countdown" button on the device. There was a chance they could retake Diego Garcia if they had reinforcements but protocol dictated that the failsafe be used when the island fell out of their control. Morshower was not about to disobey protocol, even if there were still two Autobots stuck on the island and pinned down.

Smokescreen could not shake the feeling of regret, that he should have gone back for the Twins…it seemed to pointless, having killed Starscream only for them to lose the Twins…The whole thing left him feeling morose and he was not in the mood to talk, not even when Chromia chimed in through a private link and tried to reassure him.

* * *

Skids and Mudflap, taking cover amongst the wreckage of a hangar, had found themselves in this predicament after deciding they would cover the other Autobots' escape. Now they were being blasted at by about five Decepticon soldiers who surrounded them, leaving them nowhere to go. Firing from cover, Skids caught one of the Decepticon's in the chest, causing it to retreat into cover. However, one of the other Decepticons opened fire, the bullets slamming into Skids' front and knocking him to the ground. Mudflap was by his brother's side in seconds.

"We're in some trouble, bro," Mudflap said, somewhat weakly.

"You got that right," Skids replied, the pain from his wounds almost unbearable.

"Well, I ain't staying here to die like some pussy," Skids added.

They both knew what was going to happen: they were either going to be killed by the oncoming Decepticons or, failing that, the "failsafe" would finish them off. Bullets pounded into the walls and ground near them, even as Skids rose to his feet again and brought out both of his chain guns. Mudflap did the same, following his brother out into the line of fire, firing wildly and enjoying the thrill it gave him. Another one of the Decepticons was brought down, only for Mudflap to be hammered by rounds from the pair behind him. He swivelled around, returning fire. Skids did the same, enemy bullets pounding into his front and sides, sending him falling to the ground.

Within seconds the ground began to shake and a bright, almost divine light appeared. The "failsafe" had kicked in, consuming the island and everything and everyone upon it in nuclear fire.


	32. The Ruins

**The Ruins  
**December 17th, 2010  
Somewhere outside of Maracaibo, Venezuela

"_Wakey, wakey…rise and shine…whatever…"_

That chillingly familiar voice broke into Sam Witwicky's state of unconscious. Opening his optics, the ex-human found himself in surprising surroundings: his bedroom at home, as it would have been before he had left for college, prior to his father's renovation of the room in order to replace it with a home theatre. Sitting up in his bed, which creaked under his somewhat heavy Cybertronian body, Sam looked around and then down at himself. He was still as he had been the last time he had been awake, some eight-foot tall Decepticon-in-appearance Cybertronian, one who was getting increasingly dirty and battle-scarred.

His surroundings could not have been real, he gathered this much. Sliding out of the bed, he walked over to the window and looked out at the familiar surrounding neighbourhood. If this was some kind of dream it was a damn convincing one, although one glance up at the clock on the wall revealed that it was running backwards. He recalled a few things he had read about dreams, that the brain could not keep track of time when in a dream and thus clocks would often jump to random times. He looked at the clock on the wall again, finding that the hour hand had begun to travel slightly faster than the seconds hand. Usually when he realized he was in a dream he would wake up, although that was not happening now.

"_Good morning, buddy."_

Sam looked towards the doorway, seeing his darker and somewhat more twisted self standing there. Immediately his confusion left him and his mood soured. This was _his_ dream, what was this asshole doing here? Sure, maybe his darker self had given him a few hints as to how to get out of current situations earlier on but otherwise his darker self was more annoying than anything else. What did he want this time? As far as Sam could remember, he had told his darker self he did not want to see him again. Looking around, his gaze went to the mirror over in the corner. He froze, seeing his reflection and realizing with some fright that he looked just like his other self…

"_I just thought I'd drop by,"_ his darker self said, _"And see how you're getting on…"_

"What do you want?" Sam asked, looking towards the darker version of himself and creasing his metallic features into a frown, "This is my dream…"

_"You forget that I'm you, so this is my dream as well,"_ his darker self said with a grin, _"Or do you still think I'm just a hallucination?"_

"I don't know what you are," Sam replied, "I just want you to get the fuck out of my dream."

His darker self laughed, shaking his head at Sam's defiance. Stepping into the room, he walked up alongside Sam and looked in the mirror. He coaxed Sam's gaze back to the mirror as well, just to see how much they resembled one another now.

"_You've got the look,"_ his darker self said.

"Fuck you," Sam spat, although he did see just how much they resembled one another. Did that mean he was one step closer to becoming this twisted version of himself? They looked practically alike now, scorched, dented, dirty and with scars in the same places. Cybertronian "flesh" seemed to heal quickly and the wounds Sam had received during his time at the Sector Eight facility had since regenerated, leaving noticeable blemishes and marks.

His darker self grabbed Sam's right forearm, comparing it to his own. With a grin, his darker self edged out the tip of his left forearm blade and used it to cut a small gash into the metal "flesh" at Sam's right forearm. Sam retreated his arm in shock, although his darker self was quick to point out a scar on his own right forearm that corresponded to Sam's new gash.

"_You can't fight fate,"_ his darker self said.

"What do you want from me?" Sam asked, "I'm getting tired of you just showing up unexpectedly and dropping a few hints here and there. For once, can't you just tell me what you want? Can't you just tell me what you are, hallucination or not?" Sam could feel his anger growing. He was getting tired of his darker self, although he felt that part of this anger was attributed to the undeniable fact that he was ending up just like this twisted version of Sam Witwicky. It scared him to think the dark Decepticon Sam Witwicky was getting his way, successfully pushing the real-world Sam into situations and trains of thought much like his own. He was influencing him into fulfilling his apparent destiny.

"_There are a few things I want to show you,"_ Decepticon Sam said, _"Come on."_ He gestured for the real-world Sam to follow, who reluctantly did. He followed his darker self out of the bedroom and down a short hallway. The interior of the house itself was eerily quiet, as was the outside. No birds, no traffic, nothing…Just silence. And often, silence could be just as deafening as actual noise.

Following his darker self down the stairs, they came to the living room. Here things were as Sam remembered from his last visit to the house. A glance through the open doorway into the kitchen revealed the very same layout Sam had encountered during his brief visit to the house only about forty-eight hours ago, when he had found his parents had gone on vacation. Bumblebee had pulled up outside, pleased to see his best friend had arrived home. Sam clenched one fist at the memory of this. Bumblebee was gone and Sam had been unable to do anything about it. It still pissed him off, even now after everything else that had happened.

His darker self paused by the large plasma screen television, surveying the cabinet it sat upon and pulling open one of the doors. Pulling out a DVD case, he flicked it open and removed the disc.

"What the hell are you doing?" Sam asked, standing nearby and watching this take place with a somewhat bemused look on his metal face.

"_Oh…I was just going to watch a movie, that's all…"_

"What the fuck is all this, anyway?" Sam said in disbelief. He looked around, stepping past his darker self and walking up to the plasma screen. This was _his_ dream, he could do what he wanted. And just to spite his surprisingly happy darker self, Sam clenched his right hand into a fist and punched a hole straight through the plasma television. It did not hurt at all as his hand went through, shattering the screen and sending sparks flying. Pulling his hand out, he turned around to face his darker self and smiled.

"This is my dream," he said, "I can do what I damn well want in it. You, on the other hand…"

His darker self put the disc back in its cover, shaking his head. He tossed the DVD aside and returned his gaze to Sam.

"_It's my dream as well,"_ his darker self said, _"And I can do what I want in it as well. That's why I was going to watch a movie. You know what movie I was going to watch? _Robocop._ You know why? It's about a man who becomes a machine, just like you and just like me. You and I are the same and will always be the same. There are just some things you need to realize."_

"Like what?"

_"That the only way you're going to survive is if you fulfil your destiny and become me,"_ his darker self said, _"And that if you quit being so defiant, you're going to wind up dead…or worse."_

"Or worse?" Sam scoffed. "What's worse than getting killed?"

His darker self seemed to think about this for a moment, his expression turning to one of concern.

"_There are plenty of things Unicron can do to you that qualify as 'worse than death',"_ his darker self said, _"The only way you're going to stand up to him is if you become like me and stop resisting your destiny…"_

"I don't need to become a complete bastard like you to survive," Sam snapped, unable to quite believe what he was hearing. Since when did he have to become a complete monster to survive? He was alive now and he was not a complete monster…or was he? It occurred to him that he had killed many, many people during his escape from the Sector Eight facility. Sure, all of them had been Sector Eight goons but all of them had been trying to apprehend or kill him. He could tell himself that it had been in self defence…but even so, he was still a murderer.

"_You're making a mistake…"_

"I'm not making any mistakes," Sam replied.

"_Unicron's had this whole thing planned from the beginning,"_ his darker self countered, _"You can't hope to beat him if you don't start changing…"_

"Fuck Unicron and fuck you," Sam said, "Just leave me alone. This is my dream and I don't want you in it."

"_Don't you understand? This is what he wants. He wants you to simply fall in line with his plan, one he's had the chance to perfect through playing it out in hundreds of other alternate realities,"_ his darker self explained, his tone becoming edged with frustration, _"You can't beat him if you don't start thinking outside of the box…"_

"I'm sick of you and your fucking clichés," Sam replied, "If you're supposed to be me, why the hell are you so clichéd? I'm not clichéd…Am I?"

For a moment, Sam had the feeling that he was being controlled, as if his very actions were being guided by some higher power, as if this power had written everything out, putting him through hell and back and back again for his own sick, twisted enjoyment…Maybe that was why Sam thought he was clichéd. He was a character stuck between two options: either end up a complete monster, or be defeated by Unicron. Maybe his darker self was only trying to help, but even so it did not explain why his darker self seemed like such a cliché.

There was a knock at the door. Sam froze and exchanged glances with his darker self. His darker self simply shrugged and started for the door but Sam brushed past him and beat him to it. Opening it, Sam was surprised to see a rather familiar figure standing in the doorway, dressed in a military uniform of all things, complete with cap.

"Does Sam Witwicky live here?" Christopher Walken asked, a large white envelope held in one hand.

"Yes," both Sam and his darker self said in unison. Walken raised an eyebrow. Sam figured that seeing a celebrity in a dream was rather typical, although why Christopher Walken was anyone's guess…It probably had something to do with having watched _Pulp Fiction_ the other week.

"Delivery for you," Walken said, holding out the envelope. Sam snatched it up before his darker self could.

"Is that all?" Sam asked.

"Yeah," Walken replied.

"Don't I have to sign for it?"

"Only if you want to."

Sam frowned. Sure, this may have been some sort of whacked-out dream, but now Christopher Walken was getting on his nerves. "Only if you want to"? What the hell was that supposed to mean?

"Go on, Mr. Witwicky, open the envelope," Walken said, leaning forwards, curious to see what was inside it. Sam would have sighed if he could, but since Cybertronians did not need to breathe, sighing was practically impossible.

Sam tore open the envelope, seeing that both his darker self and Christopher Walken were watching eagerly in anticipation. Reaching inside the envelope, Sam pulled out a mobile phone that looked just like the one he used to have up until he was captured by Megatron earlier. As soon as he picked it up, it began to buzz, vibrating in his hand to indicate an incoming call. Flipping open the keypad, he glanced at the display: 'INCOMING CALL FROM…UNICRON." He hesitated upon seeing the name but his darker self reached over and pressed the 'receive' button. Reluctantly, Sam put it to his ear…only to remember that he no longer had ears, instead putting it to where his audio receptors were located on either side of his head, holding it up to his right.

"Hello," he said with uncertainty.

"_Have fun,"_ his darker self said with a grin.

"_**SAMUEL WITWICKY?"**_

The voice bore right into his very head with about as much subtlety as a jackhammer. Sam winced and tried to hold the phone further away from him but it did no good: Unicron's voice seemed to be coming from all around. Christopher Walken did not look at all concerned, checking his gold watch and shaking his head.

"What's strange is that I don't know how I got here," Walken said, frowning as he looked up at the pair of them, "Could one of you guys give me a lift to the airport?"

"This is…Samuel Witwicky…" Sam said carefully. Unicron's voice reverberated through his head and into his very being. A sharp pain shot through his head and his life-spark at the same time. Sam was beginning to find it hard to focus.

"_**YOU KNOW WHO I AM, DO YOU NOT?"**_

Sam felt sick, which was strange for someone who was practically Cybertronian.

"Yeah…" Sam said, using his free hand to hold his head in a futile effort to relieve the increasing pain. "You're…you're Unicron…"

"_**YOUR WORLD, SAM, YOUR UNIVERSE…IT WILL BE MINE. YOU WILL BE MY SLAVE. YOU CANNOT HOPE TO DEFEAT ME. I AM A GOD! YOU CANNOT DEFEAT A GOD!"**_

"What…what do you want?" Sam's vision blurred as Unicron delivered his somewhat hammy speech. He could feel both of his optics aching, a trickle of blue energon fluid dribbling out from behind each optic in a sort of weird display of Cybertronian tears.

"_**TO WARN YOU, SAM…TO WARN YOU THAT WHEN I RETURN, THERE WILL BE NO SAVING YOU, NOR ANY OF YOUR FRIENDS AND FAMILY. YOUR PLANET WILL BE DEVOURED, YOUR ENTIRE GALAXY…NO ONE WILL BE ABLE TO STOP ME."**_

"I'll stop you," Sam said, the pain in his head becoming near to unbearable. He wiped away the energon fluid that was dribbling down his face, able to taste it in his mouth.

"_**YOU ARE NOTHING. YOU ARE INCONSEQUENTIAL."**_

"You were stopped in the past," Sam said. He held up his free hand to his face, noticing that he seemed to be bleeding energon out from under most of the armour plating there.

"_**AND YOU HOPE TO REPEAT THAT SUCCESS? YOU CANNOT SUCCEED. NOT WHEN I HAVE PERFECTED MY PLAN. IT IS LIKE THAT HUMAN GAME OF 'CHESS', IS IT NOT? TO PUT ALL YOUR PIECES INTO POSITION BEFORE GOING FOR THE FINISHING MOVE…CHECKMATE. AND MOST OF MY PIECES ARE ALREADY IN POSITION."**_

"I'll stop you," Sam said again. His darker self was shaking his head while Christopher Walken was waiting patiently for the conversation to end.

"_**YOU WILL FAIL, SAM WITWICKY. AND I WILL RETURN. I WILL RETURN…"**_

* * *

Sam Witwicky awoke with a start. His head hurt, his chest ached and he was indeed bleeding energon from behind his optics and from under the plates on his right forearm. Sitting up, he found himself in the interior of some sort of aircraft, tied and bound to a chair. He went to move his arms but a familiar voice sounded from ahead of him.

"I wouldn't move one inch, son," Colonel Weller said.

Sam looked up and saw the Colonel sitting on a seat across from him, dressed in his usual urban camouflage uniform complete with Kevlar vest. Weller held up a remote of sorts, his expression neutral but with a hint of satisfaction.

"You do anything fancy and I'll press this button," Weller said, fingering the red button on the remote, "And the micro-explosives my specialists took the care of implanting in your elbows and knees will detonate. You'll be nothing but a useless torso. However, it may also be enough to kill you and I don't want to kill you. You see, I need you alive, Sam. I need you alive so I can use the power in you to access the secrets of the ruins."

There was a pause. Weller frowned, noticing Sam's tears of energon and the energon that was leaking out of his right forearm.

"Must have been one hell of a dream you were having," Weller commented, "You were writhing around like you were being eaten alive by wild animals or something…"

Sam could remember the dream. There was no doubt in his mind that the all-powerful Unicron had taken the opportunity to gloat about his seemingly inevitable victory. It was unnerving to think that Unicron could influence things in this reality despite the fact he was in some sort of inter-dimensional prison. He must have been pretty damn powerful to pull off something like that.

"What do you want with these ruins, anyway?" Sam asked, trying to work out just why Weller was so determined to access them, "Do you even know much about them?"

"What I do know is that there's a whole network of tunnels and rooms deep underneath a large chunk of Venezuela," Weller replied, "And that they contain the secrets of the Cybertronians, all of their knowledge, all the secrets of their technology, everything. It'll be a treasure trove and it will quite probably make us humans the dominant power in the galaxy. The Cybertronians will be nothing compared to us, as will any other alien race that might be out there…"

"You obviously don't know what you're getting yourself into," Sam said. It occurred to him that maybe Weller was one of those "pieces" Unicron had been manipulating into play, as the inter-dimensional being had put it.

"Oh, and you do?" Weller asked.

Sam eyed the detonator Weller held in his left hand. Sure, Sam did not want his limbs blown off but he did not want to be a captive of Colonel Weller either. As much as he wanted to break out, he could not without taking a grave risk to his own health.

"Those ruins aren't a treasure trove of knowledge," Sam explained, "They're a weapon, an ultra-powerful ancient weapon that locked a really evil bastard in an inter-dimensional void. If you go in those ruins and activate whatever it is you're planning to activate, then you will let this evil bastard out. And the results won't be good for any of us."

Weller considered Sam's words for a moment. Maybe Sam could convince him that this was not the way, that they all should be working on stopping Centurion? The notion of convincing Weller to give up his cause was crushed when the Colonel cracked up laughing.

"You expect me to believe that bullshit?" Weller laughed. "I thought you were better than that, Sam, resorting to lies to try and 'convince' me to give up my worthy cause. I'm trying to make us humans a powerful force. The Cybertronians all deserve to die for the trouble they brought to our planet. With what's in those ruins, we'll become unstoppable. I'll unite the world with the technology we find, I'll give the human race space travel, I'll help humanity reach out to the stars and fuck up every alien race that stands in our way."

"You're crazy," Sam said bluntly.

Weller laughed again.

"I'm not crazy," he said, "No, no…poor people are crazy. I'm just eccentric."

The aircraft, a large Osprey, had begun to descend. A familiar figure, that of Major Sarah Taylor, walked into view and stopped nearby, eyeing Sam Witwicky carefully before she looked at Weller.

"Sir, we've arrived," she said.

Weller saw her and nodded. He looked towards Sam, smiling.

"Well, Sam, whatever the hell turned you into some kind of Cybertronian is kind of contagious," Weller said. Sam looked at Sarah, noticing that on the right side of her face and neck, several glowing blue veins had started to appear. Her right eyes was looking somewhat silver in colour to top things off.

"Now the Major here can manipulate all things electrical, just by thinking about it," Weller said, standing up. He untied Sam's bonds, forcing the eight-foot tall ex-human to follow him. The Osprey had come to a landing at the base of a large quarry from what Sam could see through a nearby window.

Weller and Taylor escorted him to a door which slid open and revealed the outside entirely. The quarry was deep and they were right at the bottom, surrounded by the high walls of rock on all sides. A few digging vehicles were parked nearby while a set of wire fences blocked off one cave in particular that had been dug into the ground up ahead. Sector Eight soldiers milled about, armed to the teeth as if anticipating an attack.

"Don't try and run, Sam," Weller said, glancing at Sam as they stepped out of the Osprey "One false move and you can say goodbye to your arms and legs."

Sam had no intention of escaping at this point in time. Where would he go if he somehow got rid of the detonator Weller was holding? Sam could tell that something had been done at his elbows and knees, as if someone had cut through the plating and jabbed something inside. There was definitely something under the metallic "flesh", this much was obvious.

It was about late afternoon now and one glance at the signs around the quarry revealed that what was written on them was in Spanish. He must have been in Venezuela, where else would Weller have taken him? Sam noticed that the Colonel had tucked away the detonator and instead removed something that had been wrapped in cloth. It seemed to emanate a power all of its own according to Sam's Cybertronian sensors. Weller threw off the cloth upon the object, revealing the mostly golden spearhead underneath.

The group came to the guards posted outside the entrance of the fenced off cave. They saluted as Weller approached, with both guards eyeing the Cybertronian Sam Witwicky with obvious uncertainty.

"Open the gate," Weller said. The guards nodded and one used a key to unlock the large padlock that was keeping the gate closed. Once this was gone, both guards pulled open the somewhat flimsy wire gate. Both guards pulled their weapons and trained them on Sam as they followed the group inside.

The cave was lit up by lamps that had been planted around the place. The walls were mostly natural rock but the further one went the more noticeable the artificial and quite obviously alien architecture revealed itself, with ancient pylons and computer terminals poking out of the rock before finally it was completely alien and artificial in nature. At the end was a seemingly solid wall. Weller grabbed Sam by the shoulder and coaxed him forward, forcing the Spear of Destiny into his right hand.

"Do what you have to do," Weller said, taking a step back.

Sam looked at the Spear, taking note of the glow it had begun to emanate.

"What do I do?" Sam asked.

"I'm sure it's in your head somewhere," Weller replied, now holding up the detonator threateningly, "So just follow your instincts."

"You don't know what you're getting yourself into…"

"Just do as I say, Sam," Weller said, "Or I'll blow you to pieces. It's a simple choice, really. I hope you make the right decision, since I really don't want to kill you, not after all that's happened. I like you Sam, you and I could have a healthy business relationship once all of this is over."

"Yeah, right," Sam said, shaking his head.

Sam returned his gaze to the seemingly solid grey wall, finding what looked to be an ancient computer terminal of sorts. Stepping up to it, he saw a large keyhole of sorts. Something told him that this was not the way to activate the portal, this was simply a means of gaining access to the massive network of tunnels and facilities constructed long ago. Carefully, Sam stuck the Spear into the keyhole and turned it.

Immediately the ground began to vibrate and within seconds the entire cave had begun to shake violently. Sam looked around, catching the confusion across Weller's face. As chunks fell from the cave's ceiling and the two guards with them started to make a run for it, Sam lunged for Weller. He forced the detonator out of the Colonel's hand, grabbing it and starting to make a run for it. Weller swore and got up and ran after Sam, with Major Taylor following. He was not about to lose his chance, not now, not after all that had happened.

As they exited the cave, the entire ceiling fell in. Plumes of dust erupted forwards while the entire bottom of the quarry began to shake violently, more so than most major earthquakes would. Entire chunks of the ground began to fall in as some kind of metal construct began to work its way to the surface. The Sector Eight soldiers posted around the place began to make a run for it while Sam started up the road that wound along the inner walls of the quarry. As the ground in the quarry began to fall in, a mostly cone shaped alien construct begun to rise out of the rubble. It came up close to the centre of the base of the quarry, lined with intricate patterns and several ancient computer terminals. It stopped, becoming about a quarter as tall as the quarry was deep, its top-most point aiming directly at the sky. Lights along its sides flared into life.

That was the top-most part of the weapon that Grimlock had described, Sam was sure of it. Stopping by a storage shed, Sam turned around and saw that Weller and several Sector Eight soldiers were after him. Transforming his right arm into its energy cannon form, Sam took aim at the central alien construct and fired. If he could destroy it then there was no way that Unicron would be able to be brought into this reality…

His shots were absorbed by an energy shield that had enveloped the central construct. He supposed that this was just so damn typical, otherwise things would have been too easy. Reverting his right arm back to its normal form, Sam knew his best option right now was to simply run and hope the Autobots showed up soon enough.

Some of the nearest soldiers had opened fire, bullets pounding into the dirt near Sam while some ricocheted off of his metal form. He dived into cover behind the nearby storage shed, looking around and finding that he was surrounded, save for to his left which was taken up by the sheer inner wall of the quarry. Again, he transformed his right arm into its energy cannon form and stepped out of cover. He opened fire in the direction of the oncoming Sector Eight soldiers, resigning himself to becoming a killer. He had no other option, it seemed.

His shots blew one Sector Eight soldier in half, inciting the others to scatter. However, one person who was not at all fazed by his energy cannon fire was Major Sarah Taylor, who raced ahead of the group with a determined look on her face.

Sam shifted his aim towards her, firing a shot. Taylor saw it coming and stopped, reaching out with her right arm and, in a display that surprised Sam completely, shot out a streak of lightning-like energy that connected with the energy blast and stopped it in mid air. With a twitch, Taylor let it go but this time sent it straight back in Sam's direction. Sam went to dive out of the way but was too slow, the searing ball of energy connecting with the dead centre of his chest and knocking him backwards. Searing hot pain shot through him and he landed in a dazed heap on the ground, a hole in his chest as energy ate away at his metal flesh and burned at his life-spark. He could barely move, the pain was simply too much. Sam put a hand to the hole that had been blasted into his chest, finding that the energy from his own energy blast had begun to eat away at parts of his armour. It seemed to stop after a few seconds but the damage had been done and Sam's strength had all but left him.

Around him, Sector Eight soldiers had gathered around, pointing their rifles down at where he lay. Weller appeared in Sam's wavering vision, shaking his head in an almost pitying manner.

"You should know better than to run, Sam," Weller said. He reached down and pried the detonator from Sam's left hand. The Colonel looked up as Sarah approached, frowning at her.

"You could have killed him, Major," Weller said, "We need him alive. We need…" His eyes widened for a moment. "Shit, where's the Spear?"

"We left it in the cave," Sarah replied.

"Then that means it's probably buried under a tonne of rubble," Weller said, angrily. He looked to the nearest Sector Eight soldier, pointing at him. "You, I want you to organize a team to start digging at where that cave used to be. We need to recover that Spear."

"Yes, sir," the soldier replied, stowing his weapon and moving off.

Sam tried to sit up but Sarah grabbed him by the shoulders and forced him back down again. She smiled at him, somewhat menacingly.

"I'd like to thank you, for giving me whatever turned you into what you are now," Sarah said. Sam returned her gaze but said nothing. He would not give her that satisfaction.

"It's quite…_electrifying_," Sarah added. She began to laugh, more at Sam and his predicament than anything else. She continued to laugh as the guards began to grab Sam and carry him away. Weller met his gaze and smiled.

"Don't worry, Sam," Weller said as the guards carried the ex-human away, "I'm sure this will all be over soon. Once it's over, I might reward you. Who knows?"

Sam remained silent. The pain in his chest had receded to a burning throb and his strength had only slightly returned. It seemed that there was no end to his bad luck, though. First the transformation and now he was being used to fulfil a madman's plan. One that could very well bring about destruction on an unimaginable scale and that Sam may end up being partially responsible. It was a morale destroying thought that only sent the ex-human further into a state of depression.


	33. Arrival

**Arrival  
**December 17th, 2010  
Somewhere outside Maracaibo, Venezuela

"With all communications down, we'll be able to slip into Venezuelan airspace without causing trouble."

The pilot announced this through the C-47s speaker system, his voice breaking into the silence that had fallen upon the inside of the large plane. James Turner, Jones Marshall, ex-Sector Seven Agent Simmons and several others had been seated in the rear passenger section of the C-47 for several hours now, having crossed multiple time zones in order to get to South America. It was their only real option, as they and the Autobots on board needed to get to the ruins in Venezuela before the Decepticons did. The Autobots remained in their vehicle forms, none of them having said anything since the plane had taken off from Diego Garcia.

General Morshower sat across from James, a map spread out across his lap while one of the surviving technicians from Diego Garcia sat to his left. Both were trying to work out where exactly in Venezuela they were supposed to go. According to reports, the other Autobots had been captured by the Venezuelan military and Lennox, Epps and Winters were being detained in Maracaibo. If that was indeed the case, then Maracaibo was the group's first priority.

"Our estimated time of arrival over Venezuelan airspace is ten minutes," the pilot continued, "However, I have no real idea on where we should set down. Chances are, if we land, the Venezuelan military will be all over us."

"That's why we're going to jump out," Morshower said. This statement got the attention of close to everybody within the passenger section. The General himself did not look too concerned about the implications of the statement. Jones Marshall, on the other hand, was now looking very worried.

"Jump out? Are you insane?" Jones asked, his voice toned with disbelief, "I ain't some Special Forces guy. I don't jump out of planes for a living. I've _never_ jumped out of a perfectly good plane."

"Have you ever been in a plane?" Simmons asked.

"No," Jones replied, "It's not like I've ever gone on vacation to anywhere distant before. "

"There are plenty of parachutes on board," Morshower said, "We can't land the plane since that'll make it too easy for the Venezuelan military to find us and apprehend us. After all, we're not supposed to be in their country. We are technically invading, but since all communications are down they might detect us but they won't be able to coordinate any sort of defence."

"They could shoot us down," Simmons said.

"That's very unlikely," Morshower replied, "Venezuela hasn't got the best equipped military in the world. If anything, they'll be too busy trying to maintain law and order than to worry about a couple of unidentified blips on their radar."

There was silence after Morshower said this. No one was in much of a mood to speak, not after what had happened at Diego Garcia. So many people dead, so much damage caused and yet, despite the small victory of having killed Starscream, the Autobot Twins had been left behind and most certainly killed in the nuclear detonation that had obliterated the entire island.

On board the plane were Smokescreen, Jolt, Chromia and Firestar. All four were in their vehicle modes and all of them had not uttered a word for the entire flight. Smokescreen, personally, was not in the mood to say anything. Instead, he simply felt so defeated: even though he had killed Starscream, it was not like it had helped them much in the long run. Centurion was still loose, so was Megatron and the rest of the Autobots had apparently been apprehended by a foreign country's military. It probably would not take much to locate them and break them out, but by the time that occurred it seemed likely that Centurion would have already gotten his way. The release of Unicron and the destruction of the planet, as far as Smokescreen could discern from it all. There was a lot of information, some of it conflicting, but the main gist seemed to be that Centurion was heavily under Unicron's influence, so much so that he was practically blinded to the truth of the matter. Unicron would not reward anyone with God-like powers…rather, he would just kill everything and start the cycle of destruction again, moving from reality to reality, destroying everything.

"We're just coming in to Venezuelan airspace," the pilot announced from the cockpit, "Maracaibo is about another ten minutes away at our current speed and heading."

Morshower frowned and looked at the map spread out before him. With a pencil in one hand, he drew a circle around one particular part of it. He had marked the city of Maracaibo, drawing a line from one side of it to a smaller landmark on the landscape depicted on the map.

"There's a quarry several miles south-east of Maracaibo," Morshower said, "It seems like a good place to aim for and set up camp, as it was abandoned a few months ago."

"A quarry, huh?" Simmons frowned. "Not the most ideal place. I've had bad experiences in quarries…"

"Like what?" Jones asked, turning to face the ex-Sector Seven agent.

"Oh, nothing too major…like the one time I was in a quarry and got attacked by a massive alien robot," Simmons replied, almost matter-of-factly, "Like, it was the biggest one I'd ever seen, complete with some big mouth vacuum-thingy. I hope to God I don't need to repeat that same experience."

Jones said nothing, simply shaking his head and sitting back in his seat. Morshower stood up, putting aside the map as he caught the attention of the people on board. He walked over to where several parachutes hung from the wall, taking one down and handing it to the nearest other person. He picked up the nearby phone on the wall that went directly to the cockpit.

"This is General Morshower," he said into the phone, having gotten in touch with the pilots, "Once we're near Maracaibo, open the rear door. We'll be getting out. Once we're all off, head back for the United States."

"Where exactly do you want us to drop you off?" The pilot's voice asked through the phone.

"Try and get us close to the quarry to the south-east of the city," Morshower replied. He put the phone back onto the receiver, turning to face the several soldiers, engineers, technicians and few civilians seated throughout the passenger section.

"We should start getting ready," he said, taking down another parachute. "Do any of you not know how to work a parachute?"  
Jones put his hand up.

"Yeah, because I've never needed to jump out of a perfectly good plane," he said.

Morshower pointed out the bright blue cord hanging from one side of the parachute.

"That's the main cord," he said, "You pull that and the parachute will open." He pointed out a second orange and fluffier cord. "That's the secondary chord. Use that if the primary one doesn't work. Other than that, we haven't got much time to give you a skydiving lesson." He passed the parachute a nearby technician who proceeded to put it on his back. He started to pull down more of the parachutes, passing them along the seats until everyone had one. Jones looked at his and simply shook his head at the whole idea of skydiving.

"This is nuts," he said, reluctantly putting the parachute on his back and making sure to clip on all of the appropriate harnesses.

Simmons patted him on the shoulder and smiled at him.

"Ah, get over it, Jonesy. It's the most efficient way off of a plane…that doesn't lead to death." Simmons stood up and grabbed hold onto the camouflage webbing that hung across the walls, steadying himself as he put his own parachute on. He knew that there was nothing to worry about, not with a tried and tested parachute. Parachute failure itself was a very rare occurrence and more like to occur with some cheap civilian parachute than a rugged military one.

Behind where Morshower stood, the rear ramp had begun to open. The wind started to rush inside while beyond the ramp was the vast landscape of South America, with rolling hills and rainforests. Beyond that was the ocean. A few settlements were visible but otherwise, from this height, the landscape looked uninhabited.

"We'll go out one at a time," Morshower said, "Activate your parachutes as soon as you're in freefall…"

"Uh…we have a problem…"

Morshower looked up, hearing this over the in-plane announcement system. It was one of the pilots and he sounded gravely concerned.

"Problem? What problem?" Jones asked, his wide.

Morshower picked up the in-plane phone again and put it to his ear.

"What is it?" He asked.

"An unknown contact, bearing in fast on our tail," the pilot replied.

"Is it Venezuelan?"

"Impossible to be sure," the pilot said, "But I suggest you hurry things up back there, sir."

Morshower put the phone down and looked at the faces of the soldiers and non-combat personnel before him. Some were obviously struck with fear of what awaited them.

"We need to get off of this plane right now," Morshower said. A C-47 transport plane like this was somewhat lacking in weapons. Even so, they still had the Autobots on board. The other C-47, flying a short distance behind and to the right, had already started dropping its people and supplies. Several soldiers, technicians and engineers were falling out of the C-47's rear, opening their parachutes and slowly floating down to Earth.

"One at a time, people," Morshower said. As the first of the soldiers jumped off, he caught sight of the "unknown contact": it was a noticeably black F-35, screaming towards the pair of C-47s. According to what Morshower had been told, Breakaway had gone rogue and undergone a bit of a makeover. Lennox had described the rogue Autobot's new look and it corresponded quite well to the jet Morshower could see flying towards them.

"We have to go, people!" Morshower shouted. He started shoving those waiting to jump off, speeding along the queue as fast as he could go. As it reached James' turn to jump, the rogue Autobot jet had let fly with a pair of missiles. Both collided with the other C-47. The large plane exploded into a spectacular ball of flame, debris raining down and flaming pieces flying through the air. Morshower briefly wondered how many people had still been on board.

"Holy shit!" Jones shouted, seeing this. He started to run for the rear ramp, as had several others. Gone was the orderly queue, now everyone was racing for the rear of the C-47, ready to jump out before Breakaway targeted their plane. Unfortunately, before anyone else could jump, Breakaway had turned his attention to them and had opened fire with both cannons. High velocity rounds tore through the plane's fuselage, springing fuel leaks and busting holes. Morshower hit the deck, as did most of the other people around him. One technician was caught in the chest with one of the large rounds, a bloody chunk being blasted from him as he tumbled forwards, his corpse hitting the floor and rolling out the back of the plane.

Something heavy landed on top of Morshower. He pushed the dead engineer off of him and stood up, just as Breakaway zoomed over the plane.

"He's coming back around!" The pilot shouted from the cockpit.

James was out of the plane at that instant, pulling the cord on his parachute and feeling the sickening pull as it opened behind him. Jones followed suit, whatever fear of heights he had dissipating in the face of certain death. Simmons was off after Jones, leaving Morshower and the Autobots the only ones left on board save for the pilot and co-pilot.

"Alright, Autobots, time to get off," Morshower said.

At that instant, Breakaway had turned around and started on a head-on course with the C-47. The pilots pulled the plane to a sharp left, causing Morshower to fall over. Breakaway opened fire with both cannons, rounds tearing through the front of the plane and ripping the pilot and co-pilot to pieces.

Smokescreen was about to drive ahead when behind him, Jolt unfolded himself from vehicle form and stood up inside the vast interior of the C-47.

"Jolt, what the hell are you doing?" Smokescreen shouted. He brought himself into robot mode as well, turning around to face the noticeably crazy looking Jolt. There was something noticeably different about the young Autobot, especially when it came to the bright blue eyes.

"Centurion showed me the true path," Jolt said, his tone betraying the obvious devotion he held for the insane Decepticon. He cracked the electric whips hanging from his arms in a menacing fashion. Morshower watched this from behind, unsure on what to do. The plane had since started into a nose dive without the pilots alive to control it while one engine spouted black smoke. Reluctantly, Morshower turned around and jumped off of the plummeting aircraft.

Smokescreen stood face-to-face with Jolt, trying to work out what had come over the young Autobot. Somehow, Centurion had influenced Jolt. Behind him, Chromia and Firestar had both emerged from their vehicle modes, weapons at the ready.

"Chromia, Firestar: I'll take care of this. You two get off of this plane while you still can." Smokescreen's tone was stern and commanding, somewhat out of character for the normally soft spoken Autobot.

"But Smokescreen…" Chromia began, but Smokescreen interrupted her.

"No, just go," Smokescreen said, "We can't afford to lose anymore Autobots. You get off this plane and find Optimus and the others. I'll take care of Jolt here and join back with you guys later."

Chromia and Firestar, after a moment's pause, moved ahead and launched themselves out the back of the plane. They opened their parachutes almost immediately, drifting down to Earth slowly. Smokescreen looked back to make sure that they were away, turning around just as Jolt brought his electric whips up and wrapped them around his neck.

The powerful electric currents flowing through them burned like hell and Smokescreen shouted, clutching at the whips with his hands. He could tell that the plane was in free-fall, heading straight for an inevitable crash.

"He showed me the path, Smokescreen," Jolt said. With both whips and surprising strength, he sent Smokescreen head first into the closest wall. The Autobot's head went straight through, busting a hole in the side of the plane. Dragging him out, Jolt continued to tighten his hold on Smokescreen's neck.

"Damn it, Jolt…Don't you see what he's done to you?" Smokescreen struggled against the whips as they burned into his neck and his hands as he tried to grab them and loosen the hold Jolt had on him. "He's brainwashed you…"

"He showed me the truth," Jolt said, "That we're all just part of Unicron's grand design, that nothing can be done to stop his return…"

Smokescreen grunted as he struggled against Jolt's startlingly strong hold, turning his right arm into a blade and using it to cut through both whips. By now the C-47 had quite literally begun to scream as it plummeted, trailing smoke.

"That's a lie," Smokescreen said. He curled his left hand into a fist, punching Jolt across the face. He hated to see such a young and somewhat likeable Autobot in the state Jolt was in, but it seemed that he either defended himself or get killed. Smokescreen did not wish to die.

Jolt had brought out a blade in each arm, lunging at Smokescreen and sending a sweeping blow his way. Smokescreen ducked, swivelling around as Jolt stepped past him and coming up behind the younger Autobot. With a lunge, he tackled Jolt and send them both falling out of the plummeting plane. The freefall that awaited them was somewhat short but even so, Jolt continued to wrestle with Smokescreen. His strength and ferocity caught Smokescreen off-guard and Jolt swivelled the pair around, ensuring that Smokescreen was beneath him as they fell. Nearby, the C-47 flattened a large patch of rainforest, ploughing through the jungle and knocking over trees as it went. Its nose caught on the ground and the plane tumbled end over end, its damaged engine erupting into flame. That flame turned into a thunderous explosion, one that blasted away half of the plane and set off the fuel tank. A massive fireball arose from the rainforest, followed by several smaller ones as fuel continued to ignite.

Smokescreen was quite unprepared for the landing, having pain sent through his entire form as he hit the ground. Jolt rolled off of him, slightly dazed and in just as much pain. Carefully, Smokescreen stood up and limped over to where Jolt lay, picking up the younger Autobot by the neck. Jolt was not quite dazed enough though, swiping one blade and causing the Autobot to stumble backwards, energon seeping out of the deep gash that had appeared across his chest.

"This isn't the way, Jolt," Smokescreen said, "Centurion's brainwashed you. This isn't you…The real Jolt wouldn't be trying to kill me, for starters."

"Autobots, Decepticons…It makes no difference. Those who follow the path of Unicron will be redeemed. Those who don't will die." Jolt lunged for Smokescreen upon saying this, causing him to raise his sword and deflect the younger Autobot's frenzy of blows. Each deflection made Smokescreen take a step back until he had stepped on a road that wound through the rainforest. Oncoming traffic swerved out of the way of the fighting pair as Smokescreen, feeling overwhelmed by Jolt's startling offensive abilities, began to feel exhaustion creeping into his joints. First Starscream, now this…he was afraid he would not be able to pull through.

The fight continued over the road and down a short slope, right into a neighbourhood on the outskirts of Maracaibo. Smokescreen waited for an opening in Jolt's attacks, lunging forwards and tackling Jolt. Both were sent into a nearby house, demolishing the flimsy construction job and causing the nearby pedestrians to start running. Both Autobots remained oblivious to the fact that Megatron, in robot form, had touched down nearby and had begun to watch the brawl from a distance. He had been on his way to Maracaibo in order to meet up with Centurion's forces…upon seeing this fight, he knew he had to watch it play out and intervene when he thought it necessary.

Smokescreen was up, with Jolt pinned beneath him. The younger Autobot struggled against him but to no avail, as Smokescreen brought his blade into Jolt's chest. Jolt let out a pained metallic groan, his hands going for the blade that had gone through his chest, trying to stem the flow of energon as it spilled out of him. The fanatical demeanour seemed to vanish on the brink of death and Jolt, back to his normal self, looked Smokescreen in the eyes and reached up with one hand.

"Smokescreen…" Jolt said, his strength leaving him.

Smokescreen slowly drew out his blade, sensing the change in Jolt and feeling a wave of guilt.

"What is it?" Smokescreen asked, stowing his blade and gripping the younger Autobot's outstretched hand.

"I'm sorry…" Jolt said, energon oozing from the corners of his mouth, "I don't know what came over me…Sometimes I black out…"

Smokescreen realized that Jolt had somehow been programmed by Centurion to black out, follow Centurion's orders and then return to his normal self. It might explain Jolt's recently odd behaviour and how the Decepticons had worked out a way to get past the Autobot anti-virus measures in the human military networks. Jolt had probably sent Centurion schematics of the entire system during one of these "black outs".

"I have flashes…of memory…" Jolt continued, shaking, "I remember…Centurion…he confronted me a few days ago…And I don't remember what happened next…except that I woke up near a dead Ironhide. He died because of me…"

"Don't blame yourself," Smokescreen replied, "You were programmed as Centurion's spy. That probably explains why he knew our movements so well."

Jolt convulsed, his grip on Smokescreen's hand weakening. Smokescreen tightened own grip, comforting the young Autobot as he died.

"I don't want to be forgotten," Jolt said and before Smokescreen could respond, Jolt was dead.

The glow in Jolt's optics died and his grip slackened. Slowly and somewhat guiltily, Smokescreen released Jolt's hand and rested it on the dead Autobot's chest. He could not help but blame himself for what had just happened, despite the fact that it had been in self defence…Jolt was young and inexperienced, never having had very much to say. And now Smokescreen had just killed him.

Rising to his feet, Smokescreen regarded Jolt's corpse and shook his head. It seemed like such a waste to lose Jolt simply because Centurion had messed around with his mind, making him some sort of programmable spy. Opening a channel to Chromia, Smokescreen was relieved to hear her voice.

"_Smokescreen, what happened with Jolt?"_ She asked.

"Centurion had done something to him to make him some sort of spy, activating whenever the bastard needed something done," Smokescreen replied, "It explains why Centurion knew our movements so well. Jolt was giving him the information."

There was a brief silence on the other end as Chromia contemplated the thought.

"_Is he…?"_

"Dead?" Smokescreen shook his head, looking down at where Jolt lay. "Yeah, he's dead."

"_Oh…"_ There was a lengthy pause. "_You should regroup with us. We're about to head out and find Optimus and the others…"_

"Understood, Chromia. I'm on my way…" Smokescreen did not have a chance to finish, since he was interrupted by a familiar sounding voice from behind.

"It's a shame about what happened to Jolt," Megatron said as Smokescreen turned around and met his gaze. The Autobot froze upon seeing the intimidating Decepticon, suddenly struck with fear. Smokescreen had never been up against Megatron before but he had heard plenty of stories about what the Decepticon liked to do to any Autobot who got in his way.

Smokescreen changed his right arm into its weapon mode but Megatron was quicker on the draw, raising his right arm cannon and firing an overcharged blast. It struck Smokescreen in the chest, sending him flying backwards where he landed on a parked car and crushed it under his weight, setting off its alarm.

Megatron stepped forwards, leering at where Smokescreen lay, dazed and in pain.

"You look like someone I met, another Autobot," Megatron said, grabbing Smokescreen by the neck and lifting him up. Smokescreen was somewhat small compared to Megatron so the Decepticon had little difficulty lifting him up off his feet.

"Yes, I remember," Megatron continued, "Jazz. You look a lot like Jazz…"

"He was my brother," Smokescreen replied. He knew what had happened to Jazz a few years earlier, Optimus had told him about it: That Jazz had been mercilessly killed by Megatron in similar circumstances to those that Smokescreen found himself in now.

Smokescreen brought out his left arm blade and swung, sticking it into Megatron's chest. Megatron shouted and released Smokescreen who rolled away as soon as his feet touched the ground. Megatron was quick to recover, aiming for Smokescreen and firing off a shot. This one connected with Smokescreen in the back as he turned around in order to put some distance between him and his opponent. Yelling in pain, Smokescreen fell forwards, rolling onto his back in order to face Megatron. Taking aim at the incoming Decepticon with his right arm cannon, Smokescreen went to open fire. Again, Megatron was decidedly quicker on the draw. The shot that Megatron fired blew Smokescreen's right forearm clean off, leaving a scorched stump that leaked energon and burned excruciatingly. Smokescreen yelled in pain, cradling the stump with his other arm as Megatron bore down on him.

"You bastard, Megatron," Smokescreen spat. Megatron ignored him, standing a few steps back as he raised his energon cannon again. He fired, the shot connecting with Smokescreen's left knee and blasting the lower half of his leg away. The pain was incredible and Smokescreen screamed in agony, trying to stem the energon flow while Megatron simply stood by and watched with noticeable satisfaction. He leaned forwards, eyeing Smokescreen carefully.

"There's something I would like you to help me with, Smokescreen," Megatron said, "You need to do something first, though. I want you to call your friends Chromia and Firestar and tell them you need help."

"No…"

Megatron shifted his aim slightly and blasted Smokescreen near the face, the blast shooting past his head. However, it was close enough to scorch his features and destroy his right optic, sending another bolt of pain shooting through him. Smokescreen shouted in agony, putting his good hand to his damaged face and feeling the damage done. Parts of the right half of his face had been melted away.

"Do it," Megatron said, "If it makes you feel any better, I will make their deaths quick and painless…"  
"I'll never help you," Smokescreen said. He would never let Megatron break him, not like this and not if it meant endangering the lives of others.

"Oh, yes, you will," Megatron said, smiling at the crippled Autobot. Smokescreen was immediately unnerved.

* * *

The landing had been a bit awkward and James Turner had been afraid he would break an ankle. It probably helped that he landed in a swamp that ran by a rainforest road. Stinking of mud and algae, James arose out of the swamp and took off his parachute. His clothes were ruined but at least he was alive.

Nearby, Morshower and the other survivors had either just landed or in the process of doing so, throwing off their parachutes once they were on their feet. Jones Marshall came floating down, his feet going through the roof of an old wooden shed. He fell into it, his parachute getting caught on the roof. After much awkward fumbling he managed to release himself from it, stepping out of the shed and shaking his head in disbelief.

Simmons walked by, heading for where Morshower was standing. Everyone seemed to be grouping around him, so James headed for him as well. Chromia and Firestar were waiting nearby, with a worried look upon Chromia's metallic features.

"I just got a call from Smokescreen," she announced, "It sounds like Jolt had been brainwashed by Centurion and decided to try and kill Smokescreen. He says he took care of him, but something else must have happened since he's no longer responding to our calls."

Morshower shook his head, pulling a folded-up map out of his pocket and trying to work out their position.

"Smokescreen can look after himself," Morshower said, "What we have to do is get in touch with the other Autobots, as well as Lennox. Chromia, you can do that, can't you?"

"Yes…"

"Then get to it. Let me know the moment you get word from any of the other Autobots," Morshower replied. He pointed to a part of the map that represented the countryside outside of Maracaibo. "We should be about here, so all we have to do is head north and we'll be in the city. No doubt our arrival caught the attention of the local authorities…"

"They're going to have a lot more problems to worry about when the Decepticons show up," Simmons commented.

Nearby, one of the soldiers had taken up a position on a hill and was holding a pair of military-grade binoculars up to his eyes. Something he saw must have gotten his attention, since his gaze went to the General.

"Sir, I think you might want to take a look at this," the soldier said. Morshower walked over and took the binoculars, following where the soldier pointed. The city of Maracaibo was stretched out before them and the coastline was clearly visible. However, there was one very noticeable thing sitting beyond the beaches and upon the water: a massive aircraft carrier, _Nimitz_-class. Morshower saw this and lowered the binoculars, frowning.

"The Venezuelans haven't got access to that kind of hardware…" The soldier next to him said.

"That's because it doesn't belong to the Venezuelans," Morshower said, "That aircraft carrier's a Decepticon. A _really big_ Decepticon."

Simmons, James and Jones stood at the base of the hill with the other survivors, who were a motley mix of soldiers, engineers and technicians. Morshower came down the hill and faced the bunch, his expression as serious as it often was.

"We have to move out," he said, "There are Decepticons inbound on the city and the Venezuelan military is probably going to come looking for the people who jumped out of the two C-47s that crashed outside the city. Hopefully the other Autobots are alright, but we can't be sure. As a result, we have to act like we're the only NEST assets here. That means we have to lay low and preferably keep out of Maracaibo until either Chromia or Firestar can confirm that the other Autobots are alive and in the city."

"And then what? What if the Decepticons attack?" Jones asked.

"Then we'll have to work something out if that happens," Morshower replied, "For now, we lay low. Remember, people, right now we're the only hope of stopping Centurion. We can't afford to get bogged down in trivial affairs, like getting caught by the Venezuelan military."

"This is nuts," Jones muttered.

"Get used to it," Simmons said, "This whole thing might be crazy, but sometimes life is just that: crazy. And it throws things in your face all of the time. So, quit being such a whiner and fall in line."


	34. Calm Before the Storm

**Calm Before the Storm  
**December 17th, 2010  
Maracaibo, Venezuela

"Tell me: How did you get into this country without being detected?"

Major William Lennox was bored, primarily because the Venezuelan General had been asking the same questions for the last few hours. Epps and Winters were locked up in a cell down the corridor, having undergone repeat questioning. So far the Venezuelans were yet to use torture as a means of extracting information, although Lennox would not put it past them. It seemed that the Venezuelan military as a whole was one of the few organizations that had been minimally affected by the worldwide communications blackout, resorting to older methods such as the use of messengers and setting up temporary landlines between military outposts.

The room Lennox was in was located in some sort of military fortress on the edge of Maracaibo, old and dilapidated. It seemed to have a use as a military prison, complete with dark, dank and damp rooms littered with refuse and filled with cobwebs and dust. Lennox was seated at the end of a small table in a sort of interrogation room while General Carmona, the accented South American man in the General's uniform, paced around the table and did his best to be intimidating. Lennox had been trained on what to do in a situation like this, knowing that he was better off not telling the General anything more than the obvious. However, having been stuck here for a few hours and growing increasingly frustrated, Lennox was beginning to get very annoyed at not only the General but at the entire situation he had found himself in. He needed to escape and find the Autobots, who were apparently parked in their vehicle modes outside and being guarded by several Venezuelan soldiers, not that they would be able to do much if the Autobots decided to leave.

Carmona was a typical looking Venezuelan General, with a moustache and heavily decorated uniform that said he was more vain than anything else. The expensive gloves he wore were proof of this. He had a cigar held between two of his fingers on his left hand and he would occasionally puff on it, sending smoke into Lennox's face in an effort to be intimidating. Lennox figured that the reason that he had not resorted to torture (yet) had something to do with the fact that Carmona was afraid of what would happen if the rest of the American military found out. The last thing his country needed was to be the site of an international incident.

"How did I get into this country?" Lennox said, pretending to think about it for a moment. "Hmm…That's a hard one. I believe it's called 'teleportation'. I was over in America one instant, then there was a flash and _poof!_ Here I am in Venezuela."

Carmona frowned upon hearing this. Lennox just smiled at him, pleased to see the General's reaction. It was the truth after all. Seriously, why could they not believe it? They had killed Grimlock after all, they probably had his corpse lying around somewhere being studied right at this instant.

"Teleportation?" Carmona returned Lennox's smile. "Is that so?"

"Yes," Lennox replied, "Why? Can't you believe that?"

Carmona backhanded Lennox across the face at that instant. The pain was sharp and brief but it was enough to make Lennox grunt, tasting blood on his tongue.

"Would you care to tell me why two American planes were shot down over our airspace only twenty minutes ago?" Carmona asked, "Or why an American aircraft carrier has parked itself outside of the city?"

Lennox frowned when he heard all of this. Two American planes? What American planes was the General referring to? Maybe NEST had finally sent someone over to help? Fat lot of good that would do for Lennox, considering his current situation.

"I haven't got a clue," Lennox said.

"Lies, Major! That is all you have been doing! Lying to me, lying to my face!" Carmona finally lost control of the rage that had been building in him all of this time. "You are in my custody, Major! I could very well torture you…"

"Then why don't you?" Lennox asked. This question gave Carmona some pause.

"Because it is inefficient," Carmona replied, "Torture is something reserved for the most hated people in the country, such as terrorists, dissidents…If I were to torture you and your government found out, I fear that there may be trouble for Venezuela. You Americans do have the habit of invading countries simply because they might annoy you. And that aircraft carrier near the city certainly looks intimidating…"

Lennox remembered the Decepticon aircraft carrier that had been encountered only a day or so earlier.

"It isn't ours," Lennox said.

"What?"

"The aircraft carrier isn't ours," Lennox added.

"Then whose is it?"

Lennox shrugged, smiling again.

"It belongs to the evil aliens," he said, "You know, the ones my country's government has been keeping secret for many years. That's why I suggest you bomb the crap out of that aircraft carrier. Do you seriously think the American Navy would send an aircraft carrier here when there's been a global communications blackout?"

Carmona frowned as he listened to this, taking another drag on his cigar as he thought about it.

"Does this have something to do with the alien we killed when we found your group and the vehicles that are refusing to change form, despite our best attempts to convince them?" The General asked, his tone level. Lennox was somewhat surprised that the General had not simply hit him again.

"Those vehicles aren't going to change shape for you guys," Lennox replied, "Especially if they've got a mission to fulfil. You know what that mission is?"

"No, so enlighten me."

"There's a set of ruins somewhere outside of this city," Lennox said, supposing it would not hurt to tell the General this. It was very likely he would not believe anything Lennox said, although it was obvious the General did know of the existence of Cybertronians, presumably through the very recent disclosure.

"That's what the evil aliens are after," Lennox explained, "And that's what a human organization, called 'Sector Eight' are after as well…"

"Sector Eight?" Carmona frowned, eyeing Lennox carefully. "What do you know of Sector Eight?"

Lennox felt his heart skip a beat. Carmona knew about Sector Eight? Then that meant he was on their payroll, probably as a means to keep the Venezuelan military off of their backs while the organization went about its secretive work in this country.

"Uh…Well…" Lennox was unsure on how to approach this part of the conversation. "They're the bad guys as well, as far as I can tell."

"And you think you're one of the good guys, Major?" Carmona asked in a rather condescending manner, as if he wanted Lennox to question his place in what was occurring. "That is another problem with you Americans: you think you're the good guys. Often the case is the opposite, especially when you send an incursion force into a foreign nation for some stupid reason. Alien ruins? You honestly expect me to believe that?"

"Yes," Lennox replied in a blunt fashion, "I mean you did see the aliens themselves, didn't you?"

"Yes…"

"And you saw them transform?"

"Yes…"

"Then why the hell don't you believe me?" Lennox was beginning to get increasingly frustrated.

"I just need to think about it for a minute or two," Carmona said, "I'm going to talk to another one of your friends again and hear what they have to say about all of this. Aliens, ruins and all that. Very fascinating." He turned to the door. "Guards! Take the Major back to his cell!"

The door behind Lennox opened and two armed guards walked in, grabbing the Major by the arms and quite literally dragging him out of the room. Lennox let them carry him along, trying to work out just what Carmona's intentions were. It seemed very likely that Carmona would order him, Epps and Winters outside to be shot once he was done with them. The Autobots would have no other choice but to abandon them, especially when the Decepticons showed up which was inevitable. If that aircraft carrier was anything to go by, then the Decepticons were already here.

Lennox was brought into a narrow stone corridor within the fortress, one lined with doors into cramped cells, two of which contained Epps and Winters respectively. The guards brought him to the door of his cell and untied his wrists which had been bound behind his back. As soon as they had done this, one guard went to open the cell door with a set of keys…

Lennox struck then and there, grabbing the guard's head by the back and slamming it against the wall. He fell down in a heap, leaving a bloody red smear on the wall where his head had connected with it. The other guard barely had a chance to react, about to yell when Lennox turned around and punched him across the jaw, knocking him out. The Major caught the guard's unconscious body, resting it on the ground and taking the fallen guard's AK74 assault rifle. He grabbed the rifle the other guard had dropped, tucking both under one arm in order to make one hand free for the keys. Lennox took up the set of keys and moved to the next cell where Epps stood by the door, peering through the small barred section towards the middle of the door.

"You should have done this earlier, Lennox," Epps said as Lennox used the keys to open the cell door. Lennox handed Epps one of the assault rifles before stepping over to the next door and opening it. Winters was inside, seated on the dirty mattress by one side of the cell. He looked up as Lennox opened the door, standing up and smiling.

"Finally," Winters commented as he stepped out of the cell, "I was beginning to think I might need to break us out myself."

Winters stepped over to one of the unconscious guards and bent down, pulling the guard's sidearm out of its holster. With the trio now armed, they started down the hallway, moving cautiously as they came to a corner at the end of the hallway.

"The Autobots are outside and under heavy guard," Lennox said, "I think they're waiting for us to make the first move, although the Venezuelans might shoot at them if they were to try and escape…"

"It doesn't matter," Epps said, "We've got to get out of here. Who knows what Sector Eight and the Decepticons are doing right now? They could be close to their ultimate goal…"

"And if that's the case, then we're screwed," Winters added, "So I think we have to take the chance and get out of here."

* * *

As Morshower and the group of survivors from Diego Garcia were moving out, heading through the countryside outside of Maracaibo, Chromia and Firestar were tailing closely behind the group. It was strangely quiet, as if the entire city of Maracaibo had gone to a standstill. The global communications blackout probably had something to do with it and the military marshal law was enough to dissuade anyone from going outside unless they really had to.

At that moment, Chromia detected an incoming communications link from Smokescreen. Firestar got it as well, causing the pair to stop as Morshower's group continued moving forward.

"Smokescreen, is that you?" Chromia asked, unable to keep the relief out of her voice. She had been worried about him, especially when their last conversation had ended rather abruptly.

"_Chromia, Firestar…I'm in some trouble and I need help…"_ Smokescreen sounded genuinely pained, as if he was in considerable agony. Chromia fiddled with her scanners, getting a lock on Smokescreen's life energy signature. She looked to Morshower, who was leading the group up ahead.

"General!" She called, getting Morshower's attention. He turned around, looking towards her.

"What is it?" He asked.

"It's Smokescreen. He just called in…He doesn't sound too good." Chromia hated the thought of losing another Autobot, especially when there were so few of them left. She thought of Ratchet and wondered briefly how he was doing, if he was even still alive. The prospect of losing him was a little too much.

"Do you know where he is?" Morshower seemed doubtful that Smokescreen would be alright by the time Chromia and Firestar reached him.

"I've got a lock on him," Chromia replied, "Firestar and I could go and find him and be back in little under twenty minutes."

Morshower contemplated the plan for a moment. It seemed risky, letting the only two Autobots they had in the group go but if they could save Smokescreen it would be worth it. Morshower could tell just by looking at Chromia that no matter what he said, she would still go and find Smokescreen. He just shrugged when he reached his final decision.

"Okay, you can go," Morshower said, "Try and find us once you've got Smokescreen. We'll be stopping for a rest up ahead shortly, so we shouldn't have much difficulty regrouping. If anything goes wrong, try and not lead the Decepticons to us. That…wouldn't be a good thing."

"Understood, General," Chromia said. She turned to Firestar who was a little behind her. "Let's go, Firestar."

The pair headed off, moving along the grassy pastures and heading onto a road that wound its way through the countryside and into Maracaibo. Smokescreen seemed to be stationary on the outskirts, not a kilometre away. As Chromia and Firestar neared his position, they found evidence of a fight that had flattened a few houses and crushed a few cars. There were no civilians anywhere close by, the city-wide state marshal law having inclined them to stay indoors. Readying their weapons, both Chromia and Firestar approached the site of the battle carefully. Catching sight of something amongst the rubble, Chromia moved forwards and found Jolt's dead body. The young Autobot had taken a beating and had died lying on his back, trying to hold in his insides. According to Smokescreen's last call, he had been fighting with Jolt since the young Autobot had turned out to have been brainwashed by Centurion somehow. It was depressing, to see the youngster lying dead like he was now.

"Smokescreen, where are you?" Firestar said to no one in particular. They heard his voice at that moment, coming from some distance away.

"Firestar…don't…" He sounded like he was in considerable pain. At that moment, he screamed and this scream became more of a metallic howl towards its end. Whatever was happening to Smokescreen, it did not sound very pleasant.

Firestar began to rush forwards, with Chromia following a little way behind. However, Chromia stopped as they entered another street, suddenly sensing that all was not quite right with their current situation.

"Firestar, hold up!" Chromia called. Firestar stopped and the pair listened carefully, able to hear Smokescreen's groans from somewhere close by. However, Chromia could sense something else, another presence…

"Help me…" Smokescreen groaned from nearby, crawling into view from around a corner up ahead. He was bleeding energon everywhere, his right arm having been blasted off at the elbow and his left leg having been blasted off at the knee. Someone had gone to work on him, having ripped off some of his plating and causing even more damage. Chromia readied her weapons, scanning the area. As much as she wanted to help Smokescreen, there was something not quite right with this situation.

Firestar started to move towards Smokescreen, who had slumped into a barely moving heap on the ground. She reached him and knelt by his side, rolling him over to get a better look at his wounds…

Someone had rigged several energon-based sticky grenades to his front. Chromia was about to shout out to Firestar to get away from Smokescreen but before she could, both Autobots were enveloped in a thunderous blue-white explosion. Chromia was knocked backwards by the force of the explosion and the windows of every building in the street shattered as the column of blue flame erupted upwards. The closest building to it was blasted to pieces.

As Chromia stood up, she surveyed the damage caused. There was no trace of Firestar or Smokescreen left, save for a few pieces here and there. Frantic, she went to the smoking crater that had been left behind by the explosion and began to search the rubble in and around it, finding what was unmistakably Firestar's right arm. She dropped it almost as soon as she picked it up and realized what it was, feeling an overwhelming sense of frustration and powerlessness overtake her. She fell to her knees and punched the ground before her, leaving a small mark in the road. So many deaths, so much destruction and for what? They had achieved nothing. Every time it looked they were going to pull off some small victory, something had to happen that completely messed everything up. Somebody had to die…And in about half an hour, Jolt, Smokescreen and Firestar had been taken. Chromia felt useless but she also felt a renewed sense of determination: she wanted to kill every last Decepticon she found, no matter what it took. She hoped to Primus that Ratchet was alive, otherwise she might just break down.

At that moment, something cropped up on her scanners, a familiar set of life energy signatures. They were some distance away, on the other side of the city but it provided some relief: Optimus, Ratchet and Sideswipe were gathered in the one area, while another unknown but definitely Autobot signature was with them. Rather than head back for Morshower's group, she started to head into the city, going for Optimus and the others. If they could all get together, they might have a fighting chance.

* * *

Sam Witwicky was back in dreamland again, he realized this much as soon as he opened his optic shutters. He was in his bedroom at his home in Tranquility, something that was entirely impossible considering that his bedroom no longer existed, having been replaced by a home theatre. Giving the robot equivalent of a sigh, he climbed out of the bed and half expected his darker self to show up. Oddly enough, that did not happen. Rather, his attention was diverted to the voices he could hear coming from downstairs.

Slowly and rather resignedly, Sam started out of his bedroom and into the hallway beyond. Heading down the stairs, he looked into the dining room and saw a curious sight: seated at the table was his darker self, as well as Christopher Walken from the last dream he had had. Seated with them was Jones Marshall, uncharacteristically smoking a cigarette while his outfit seemed to change colour every time Sam looked at him.

Sam's darker self turned around, smiling at the real world Sam and gesturing to an empty seat.

"_Sit down, Sam,"_ his darker self said, _"We have a few things to discuss."_

"Like what?" Sam asked.

"Just sit down," Christopher Walken replied, nodding to a vacant chair, "For now, as long as you're in dreamland, you can relax. It also gives us a chance to tell you a few things we normally wouldn't be able to."

"You're not able to tell me things since you're not actually real," Sam said, sitting down in a vacant chair across from Jones Marshall, whose outfit had gone from a black shirt and matching pants to an orange shirt and matching pants. Sam ignored this and looked at his darker self and then Walken in turn. What made them think he would listen to people who were not actually real?

"_You're in a safe haven, Sam,"_ his darker self said, _"You're bordering on insanity and your subconscious mind has created this dreamscape as a means of coping. All that has happened to you has taken its toll, both physically and mentally. Now, all that's required is one more thing and you'll snap…"_

Sam did feel like he was going crazy, especially after that last dream which had featured a gloating Unicron calling him over a mobile phone. He wondered if that had genuinely been Unicron or not, although it seemed quite probably it had been the real thing.

"You see, Unicron's trying to manipulate you," Walken said.

"How can you know that?" Sam asked, "You're not real. You're just a figment of my imagination…"

"We're your subconscious mind," Jones interjected, his outfit having gone from an orange one to a light blue one, "Deep down, you know more than you're letting on. We're just telling you this so that your actual conscious mind is aware of it…"

Sam looked at his darker self, who seemed to be grinning. He was beginning to get tired of all these cryptic discussions that always supplied more questions than answers.

"Seriously, I want some solid answers," Sam said, his voice laced with annoyance, "Like you, for instance: What are you? Are you me from the future? Or are you some part of my mind that's a lot more twisted than the rest of it?"  
His darker self shrugged. Sam only grew increasingly annoyed at this response.

"_Work it out, Sam,"_ his darker self said, _"You're either suffering from psychosis, which is certainly credible given your current circumstances, or I am in fact a messenger from the future. I have been trying to help you, to allow you to access your inner powers and pull through the situations you've found yourself in…"_

"Then why don't you help me now?" Sam asked, unable to contain his anger any longer, "Why the fuck don't you give me some proper answers? I'm getting really tired of this bullshit…I mean, all you've done is be an asshole and throw hints my way every now and then. You mentioned a 'pivotal' moment that would change me. Could you shed some fucking light on that?"

"_You need to experience it for yourself,"_ his darker self replied, _"Why would I spoil it for you?"_

Sam rolled his optics. He was getting really tired of this. At least in the real world, things were making more sense.

"What about the last time I was here? When Unicron called me?" Sam remembered this only too well. "What was that about? Was that actually Unicron?"

His darker self and Christopher Walken exchanged some awkward glances. Sam did not understand why Christopher Walken, of all people, would be in his dream. Sure, he had seen movies with the actor in them but he did not actually know the man personally. Sam had read somewhere that when it came to dreams, anyone you had so much as glimpsed during your life could show up in them.

"Unicron's a bit of an ass," Jones said, his outfit having gone from a light blue set of pants and matching shirt to a bright red Hawaiian shirt, "He likes to gloat. He knows you have no hope of defeating him, so he decided to get into your dream and mess with your head some more."

"_You said, Sam, that you didn't want to see me again,"_ his darker self said, _"That was in the real world, so I assumed you weren't including your dream world. A loophole like that might save you, since I do have a few things to tell you…"_

"You do realize where I am now in the real world, don't you?" Sam asked.

"_Yes, but I shouldn't be too concerned. It's going to be a while before Colonel Weller recovers the Spear of Destiny and even then…Well, you might have done something to escape…"_

"How can I escape when I've got that lightning throwing bitch on my ass?" Sam asked, remember the Major and her new abilities. He found it hard to believe that those were his fault.

"_Oh, I'm sure you'll figure something out,"_ his darker self said in an almost blasé fashion.

"Thanks for the help," Sam said, sarcastically. There were never any solid answers around this place. Instead, everyone just had to be so cryptic and so vague that hardly anything made sense. Then again, this was a dream and very rarely did dreams make any sense.

"Things go in cycles, Sam," Christopher Walken said, changing the subject, "Everything moves in cycles. The seasons, the years…life itself is a cycle…"  
"What the hell are you talking about?" Sam asked, frowning.

"I'm saying that you've become part of a very important cycle," Walken said.

"_It's one that stretches back to the furthest beginnings of the universe,"_ Sam's darker self added, _"Where Unicron and Primus were practically the only two living things in existence."_

"And this is helping me _how_?" Sam asked, leaning forwards and expecting some sort of explanation. Of course, he did not get one. Instead, his darker self just looked at him and smiled.

"_You'll find out in due time,"_ his darker self replied, _"You just have to make sure you're ready, because you will become _me_. It's your destiny, just as your destiny is to fulfil the cycle and start it again…"_

Sam could feel himself slipping away. He assumed that had something to do with the fact that he was being pulled out of this dream world and back into the real world. He hated the idea of turning into his darker self but all signs seemed to indicate that he was already mostly there.

"_I'll see you again soon, Sam,"_ his darker self said.

Sam immediately came to at the quarry, shaking himself out of the dream-induced haze. He was tied up and seated by a shed at the base of the quarry, the alien structure towering high nearby. Major Sarah Taylor sat across from him, watching him carefully. Sam saw her piercing gaze and managed a weak smile.

"Oh…uh, hi…" He said. Sarah did not reply. Sitting back in his seat, Sam simply shook his head and got lost once again in his own thoughts.


	35. Breakaway's Redemption

**Breakaway's Redemption  
**December 17th, 2010  
Maracaibo, Venezuela

Sitting in their vehicle forms, Optimus, Sideswipe, Ratchet and Deadeye were parked in the grounds of a Venezuelan military compound. Several armed Venezuelan soldiers stood nearby, tasked with guarding the four exotic vehicles and ensuring that they did not try and escape. Optimus had since decided to wait and see if either Lennox, Epps or Winters showed up and if they did not he and the other Autobots would leave and head out to engage the Decepticons. The Decepticons themselves were bound to be on their way into the city by now, leaving the Autobots with little time to get ready.

Otherwise, Optimus was deep in his own thoughts, unable to help but dwell on what had happened earlier. Deadeye, his own son, had pulled a gun on him. What had Optimus done wrong in raising the youngster? The more he thought about it the more abundantly clear it had become: Optimus had always been protective of him, afraid to lose him just like they had lost his mother. To raise someone like Deadeye in a war-torn environment had obviously left some scars, both physically and mentally, on the young Autobot. Centurion had been right about Deadeye being capable of threatening Optimus' leadership, a fact that Optimus was genuinely concerned about. It probably stemmed from Deadeye's frustration at never being allowed to actually participate in the fighting, having always been told by Optimus to "hang back" or simply remain at base camp. This had been back during the days of the war on Cybertron and the one time that Deadeye came along to prove his fighting worth, he disappears. Optimus had almost had a complete break down when that had happened, never having known his son's actual fate except that he had simply vanished with Centurion. To find him here on Earth was a stroke of extreme luck and perhaps an opportunity for a second chance, one to repair his relationship with his son and put an end to Centurion's tyranny once and for all.

Of course, things were not helped by the fact that Deadeye was rather adamant to not listen to his father for once. He had had enough of obeying everything his father said, going through a typical stage of rebellion. He would come around sooner or later but until then, Deadeye was somewhat volatile. The fact that he had remained silent throughout the conversation the group had been having amongst themselves, using private communications links, did not help either.

As usual, Ratchet was being the voice of reason. He had always been like that, although recently his mood had lightened up. Optimus supposed it had something to do with the obvious interactions Ratchet and Chromia had been having recently.

"We can't afford to wait any longer," Ratchet said, his voice level over the private link, "We should get moving and head for the ruins that Grimlock mentioned. We have a good idea about where they are, so it shouldn't take much to find them."

"What about the humans here?" Sideswipe asked, referring to the Venezuelan soldiers that were walking around nearby. The compound itself was near some sort of old stone fortress some distance outside of the city of Maracaibo. "I don't think they'll take too kindly to us simply leaving."

Optimus had always been against harming humans, considering they were the very race that he and the Autobots were trying to protect. In recent events, where some humans had in fact become hostile, Optimus had made sure to try and not kill any. The same went for these Venezuelan soldiers: he and the other Autobots could try and escape, but if they did so they should only incapacitate the humans that got in their way. The Autobots did not need anymore enemies, considering that their main focus was supposed to be the Decepticons. All of this recent Sector Eight business had simply complicated things further.

"And what about Major Lennox and the others?" Sideswipe added, "We can't just leave them. Who knows what these Venezuelans are doing to them? It's not as if we're supposed to be here, anyway. They'll treat him, as they're treating us: like prisoners. We did just teleport into their country without permission."

"We will wait a little while longer," Optimus said, "But as soon as we have confirmed Decepticon targets, we will leave. We can't allow Centurion access to the ruins Grimlock described but I have no doubt in my mind that Centurion is on his way here, if he is not here already. He will most likely have many followers with him and they will most likely come after us, in order to slow us down and allow Centurion access to the ruins."

"Chances are Sector Eight is already at the ruins," Ratchet said, "And Centurion probably has Sam with him as well. If they were able to use him to raise their army…"

"Then we'll have a hell of a lot of Decepticons to kill," Sideswipe finished, his voice tinged with confidence, "I think that'll be plenty of fun."

"Your idea of fun is a bit off, Sideswipe," Ratchet said, "We've already got enough to worry about. If there are three hundred Decepticons on their way here, what makes you think we'll have much of a chance? There are just four of us…"

"You can't forget Smokescreen and the others, who are still at Diego Garcia," Sideswipe countered, "They're probably on their way here right now, if they know about the ruins. I don't see why they wouldn't."

"Maybe I am being a bit pessimistic," Ratchet added, "But how many of us are there, even if Smokescreen and the others are still alive? We've already lost enough Autobots. How many more will we have to lose?"

Optimus knew Ratchet had a good point. They would not stand much of a chance against an entire Decepticon army, although Optimus doubted that Sam would allow himself to be used to raise a few hundred Decepticons. No, Sam would have fought, probably making sure to eliminate himself in the process so that Decepticons would not be able to use him. If that was the case then no one would be able to activate the ruins and free Unicron…Of course, this was hoping for a lot, including Sam being game enough to get himself killed. Chances are, Sam would be overpowered by Centurion and used to raise the Decepticon army.

Optimus did find it difficult to fathom the fact that Sam had somehow transformed into something obviously Cybertronian, although the brief time that Optimus had seen him had presented something interesting: Optimus scanners had highlighted Sam as an enemy, an unknown one at that. Maybe Sam did not realize it, but he was notably Decepticon in appearance.

"Ratchet, did you detect anything curious about Sam when we found him?" Optimus asked, deciding to get a more expert say in the matter. Ratchet was the medic after all, he would know plenty about this sort of thing.

"If you count the fact he came up as a hostile on my scanners, then yes, I did detect something curious," Ratchet replied, "If Sam had been exposed to the energy in the Matrix of Leadership, there's no telling what exactly has occurred and why. My theory, from what I know of the matter, is that the Matrix is…I mean, _was_ somewhat sentient. When it felt threatened, all of its energy jumped to another carrier, in this case the carrier was Sam. Since it could not possibly work in a human body, it began to alter it accordingly. I can't imagine the agony Sam must have gone through, both physically and mentally. I'm surprised he's still himself. I would have thought such a drastic change might have made him emotionally unstable…"

"Maybe he is emotionally unstable," Sideswipe said, "We just weren't near him long enough to confirm this…"

"He isn't unstable," Deadeye said, speaking for the first time since the standoff with Optimus, "He was fine when he was with me. Perfectly fine." There was a hint of a far more defensive tone in Deadeye's voice, one that Optimus sensed as a bit out of character for his son.

"How can you be so sure?" Ratchet asked, "He might have seemed fine initially…"

"Damn it, Ratchet, he's fine!" Deadeye snapped, making the Autobot medic fall silent. Deadeye sounded frustrated and angry, probably from what had occurred before.

The group fell silent after this. Optimus kept his eye on the soldiers nearby, taking note that they looked mostly bored with their posting here. Above, evening had begun to fall, sending the sky into an orange-purple dusk colour as the sun began to set. It was strangely tranquil, as if it was some sort of peaceful prelude to the coming destruction. At least, Optimus figured that there was destruction on the way. If the Decepticons were coming to Maracaibo, which was definitely the most likely scenario, then there would be plenty of destruction. That was all the Decepticons left in their wake: destruction, death, suffering…Memories of the war on Cybertron stirred in Optimus' mind as he thought about this. He remembered one occurrence in particular, the capture of Sentinel Prime by the Decepticons. Sentinel Prime had always been a good friend, more of a scientist than anything else, but a very helpful one at that.

"Son, do you remember back on Cybertron…" Optimus trailed off, unsure on what to say. He needed to bring Deadeye back to his side, make sure that he was with him and not against him like he was now. If they were going to survive this they would need to work together.

"What?" Deadeye asked, sounding annoyed.

"Do you remember Sentinel Prime?" Optimus said.

"Yeah, I remember him," Deadeye replied, "Not too vividly, though. I must have been really small when he was around…nothing more than a sparkling…"

"I remember him, Optimus," Ratchet said, "Greatest mind of our generation, I have to say. Greater than my mind, which I thought was impossible…" He chuckled at his own joke while Sideswipe simply flickered his car form's headlights, the equivalent of rolling his eyes.

"Do you know what happened to him?" Optimus asked. There was no response from the others. Only Optimus knew the truth and he had never spoken of it to anyone, for the memories it entailed were somewhat painful to dredge up.

"He got captured by the Decepticons," Optimus said, "Breakaway was working undercover with them at the time so he gave me the information I needed to locate and rescue Sentinel Prime. Deadeye, have you ever seen what it's like inside a Decepticon prison?"

Deadeye was silent for a moment.

"No. Why?" He sounded disinterested, which was unsurprising for someone of his young age. Deadeye was just as arrogant as he was young.

"They deprive you of energon, they torture you, they slowly dismantle you…When I finally found Sentinel Prime, he was nothing but an empty shell of his former self…."

"You've never told us this before, Optimus," Ratchet said, "You told us he had been dead when you found him…"

"He wasn't dead," Optimus answered, "Far from it. He was crippled with parts of him, mostly his exterior plating, having been ripped off during torture. He had lost a lot of energon and had become mute, unwilling to talk because of what had happened to him. I didn't want to bring him back, since if our forces had seen our best scientist in the state he had been in then, our morale would have suffered. As I was close to being discovered, I did what I thought best…"  
"What did you do?" Deadeye asked, sounding a bit more interested now.

"I euthanized him," Optimus said, his tone sullen, "That way, the Decepticons would not be able to garner any information from him, unless they already had. If anything, I put him out of his misery. To see an Autobot like the way he was then…It hit it home that war is a horrific waste of life. We were fighting to save our race whereas the Decepticons were simply interested in getting rid of us, in creating a society where they looked upon Megatron as some sort of saviour. They weren't trying to create a working society…they were destroying what was left of our working society. Megatron's real motives won't ever be revealed…"

"What has this got to do with now?" Deadeye asked.

"I'm telling you, son, that I was protecting you from the horrific things I had encountered during the war," Optimus replied, his tone nearing one of exasperation, "I did not want to lose you and I certainly did not want to see you end up like Sentinel Prime. I protected you, Deadeye, even if you thought I was holding you back. I protected you and allowed you to grow up rather than have your life cut short by some overzealous Decepticon interrogator. To lose you when we fought Centurion hurt me more than the death of your mother."  
The others were silent for a moment. Optimus could sense some doubt in Deadeye now, as if he was finally beginning to realize his mistakes.

"What happened to my mother?" Deadeye asked.

"She was wounded in battle," Optimus said, "I was with her, so she died in my arms. I comforted her until she finally succumbed. I couldn't go through that again, that is why I do not want to lose you as well, son."

Deadeye was silent. Optimus felt somewhat better about himself, having got these things off of his chest.

"What do we do now?" Sideswipe asked, "We've waited long enough. I say we get moving before the Decepticons show up."

Optimus scanned his surroundings, unable to detect anything out of the ordinary. Neither Lennox, Epps nor Winters were in sight. Instead, the Venezuelan soldiers wandering around continued to go about their business as if nothing out of the ordinary was occurring. There were certainly no Decepticons in sight…

"I don't want to leave Lennox, Epps and Winters behind," Optimus said, although he knew that deep down, this was the only real course of action. They had wasted enough time waiting for those three and chances were they would not be coming back.

"There's no point in waiting here anymore, Optimus," Ratchet said in a reassuring tone, "We should leave. I'm sure the three of them are still alive."

"I agree," Deadeye said, "No use waiting here for something that probably isn't going to happen."

At that moment, there was a familiar sounding roar overhead. Above, a V-formation of four black jets, each with dark red trims, zoomed over. Some of the Venezuelan soldiers nearby watched the formation with a mix of surprise and curiosity.

"I can guarantee you that those aren't piloted," Sideswipe commented.

Optimus could only agree. The formation of jets began to turn around, their sights trained on the four Autobots parked in the military compound. Seeing them head towards them on what was most obviously a strafing run, the four Autobots quickly transformed into their full robot modes and geared up for a fight. The nearby Venezuelan soldiers were caught by surprise, some simply turning tail and running at the sight of the Autobots.

Optimus had both cannons out and started firing at the oncoming jets. They were fast, with the one he had targeted pulling off a sudden barrel roll and avoiding the incoming fire. The other three opened fire with an utter hail of missiles, each swirling through the air and leaving a smoking trail behind it. Optimus hit the deck as the missiles rained down, the ground shaking with each detonation as flames erupted forth and dirt rained down from each impact. A nearby truck was hit, sending its now flaming wreckage flying off to one side. Deadeye dived to the ground, one of the missiles exploding close to his head and sending him into a slight daze. Optimus raced over, ignoring the explosion that erupted close to his right, grabbing his son by the arm and helping him up. By now, both Sideswipe and Ratchet had started out of the compound while the Venezuelan soldiers had gone for cover. One of them now held an anti-aircraft rocket launcher, crouching by a stack of crates and using the launcher to get a lock on one of the jets as its roared overhead.

Another one of the jets changed into its full Decepticon form of a tall, mostly black and red Decepticon. It looked surprisingly well finished, with no scars of any kind. It was most likely one of the recently birthed Decepticons, a result of Sam being used by Centurion to raise the unborn army on board the Decepticon flagship.

Deadeye had since recovered, pulling both of his guns out and firing at the Decepticon. His uncanny shooting skills were put to work here, with both of his shots hitting the Decepticon squarely in the face. With a smoking hole shot through its head, the Decepticon fell backwards and flattened a large portion of the wall that went around the perimeter of the fort.

By now the Venezuelan soldiers in the compound had started to take up defensive positions. Optimus and Deadeye turned around and caught up with Sideswipe and Ratchet, starting out of the compound and towards the city. However, at that moment Optimus thought he heard a familiar voice shouting at him. Turning around, he saw with some relief that Lennox, Epps and Winters had escaped the fort. The three of them had armed themselves and were running over to catch up with the Autobots.

"Wait up!" Lennox called, relieved to see the Autobots. Above, the remaining three Decepticon jets had headed off for elsewhere. They were joined by another formation of four, a sight that was certainly unnerving given the current circumstances.

"We must get to the ruins, Major," Optimus said.

"Those Decepticons are bound to return," Sideswipe added, "And they're going to come for us. They get rid of us and they'll have a fairly clear road to the ruins."

"I've got some news as well," Lennox said, "There's a Decepticon aircraft carrier parked near the city and that Sector Eight is in control of the ruins. If anything, we need to fight our way through the city and get to the quarry outside of town…"

"Sounds like fun," Deadeye commented. Optimus could only disagree: it seemed they had their work cut out for them, with both the Decepticons and Sector Eight to deal with. First, they would need to get past the Decepticon jets gunning for them and then they would need to get into the quarry and get past Sector Eight. Today, which had already been a long day, was about to get even longer.

* * *

Breakaway had since perched himself on top of an apartment building in the south of the city, watching as the attack began. Tidal Wave, the massive Decepticon who had taken the form of an aircraft carrier had stopped outside of the city, sending wave after wave of airborne Decepticons to locate the Autobots and eliminate them. Some had even started laying waste to parts of the city, simply for the fun of it. There were many civilians down in the streets, packing up their belongings and deciding to try and get out of the city. On top of the military marshal law that had been declared, things were genuinely stuffed up. With the Venezuelan military trying to maintain law and order while the Decepticons attacked, the amount of law and order started to quickly decrease. Anarchy had already erupted in some areas of the city and it was only a matter of time before it spread.

Breakaway was not really concerned about all of this. Rather, he felt a mix of anticipation and fear as it neared the time to implement Slipstream's plan. Tidal Wave was working with them, thankfully, and would help wherever he could. They would get rid of Centurion and take control of the Decepticon forces. With that done, they would be the ones to access the secrets of the ruins outside of the city. Slipstream had reassured Breakaway many times that they would not be allowing Unicron into this reality. That would be a move only a madman, like Centurion, would do. Unicron was too powerful and too dangerous a being to allow out of his inter-dimensional prison.

There were some doubts in Breakaway's mind, just as there always were. The closer it came to implementing Slipstream's plan the more concerned he grew, the more conflicted he became. He had betrayed the Autobots after all but only because it had ensured his survival. He had been at death's door not too long ago and Slipstream had promised him life if he helped her. She was certainly very persuasive and Breakaway could not help but fall under her sway. Not that he cared too much, since Chromia, his previous love, had more or less dumped him. He had apparently become too "Decepticon" from his undercover work for Chromia to love him anymore. He did not need her: he had Slipstream now and they made a perfect couple.

Slipstream stood a little behind Breakaway, watching the attack on the city begin. She seemed pleased with herself, which was understandable. Her plan was about to come into fruition: Centurion was on his way and he would most definitely want to meet them and get an update on the situation. Slipstream would convince her father to come and talk to them in person, granting them the opportunity to strike.

Slipstream stepped closely behind Breakaway, putting an arm around him and trailing her fingers across his chest. Breakaway took her hand in his own and turned around to face her.

"We've come this far," she said.

"It sounds easy enough, taking down your father," Breakaway said, "If that device on his back is what gives him his power, all we do is…"

"Remove it and kill him," Slipstream finished, "Simple and straightforward, as any plan should be. Often it is the most simplest of schemes that work out in the end."

"And if he doesn't come here to talk?" Breakaway asked, some doubts still buzzing about in his mind.

"We'll go to him," Slipstream answered.

Looking at her now, Breakaway could see why he had fallen for Slipstream. She was just so damn seductive, opening up the possibility that maybe she was manipulating him…No, that was impossible. What they had between them genuinely was love.

"And you have no problem killing your own father?" Breakaway asked.

"He's insane," Slipstream replied, "We'll be doing him a favour, putting down the madman. It's not as if he's been a good father, either. I hardly ever used to see him."

Breakaway nodded. Slipstream made things sound so simple and she was a master at reassuring him, using those powerful feministic wiles of hers to good use. Breakaway was like putty in her hands and she certainly did love him. She could see the two of them with a future together, once this was all over. They could rule this planet, start a new Cybertron once they had the power to do so…

Breakaway's attention was diverted to something interesting that had cropped up on his scanners. Turning around, he set his gaze on the distant life energy signature: it was an Autobot and a certainly familiar one at that. Letting go of Slipstream's hand, Breakaway jumped, transformed and rocketed towards the distant Autobot. Slipstream, confused and surprised, followed suit.

Chromia was alone in the street, working her way through the outskirts as she headed for Optimus and the others. It was a surprise to her when Breakaway touched down ahead of her, unfolding himself from his vehicle mode and setting both feet firmly on the ground. Chromia froze when she saw him, sensing just how much he had changed and seeing the physical makeover he had undergone. Just by looking at him Chromia could tell that the rogue Autobot was not quite right, as if there was something wrong with him. The Decepticon that touched down behind him was some female Seeker and undoubtedly the one the other Autobots had mentioned as having been the "bitch that manipulated Breakaway".

Chromia had treated Breakaway harshly when he had first arrived on Earth. She had regretted it soon after but had found solace in the arms of another, Ratchet, since he had always been there for her when she had needed him. She had blamed herself for Breakaway's defection at first, only to realize now that it was because of the female Seeker, Slipstream, and nothing else. Slipstream had taken advantage of Breakaway's inner conflict and had used it to gain an ally and an interface partner in the process.

"Chromia," Breakaway said, stepping towards her and stopping a short distance away.

"Breakaway," Chromia said in return. She was ready to pull out her weapons at a moment's notice, just in case this turned ugly. However, it struck her as interesting that Breakaway had sought her out…maybe he was here to kill her, or maybe, deep down, he wanted forgiveness.

"Breakaway, let's not waste our time with this Autobot," Slipstream said, a look of annoyance crossing her face. She stepped forwards, stopping alongside Breakaway and putting an arm around him, seductively trailing her fingers down his bulky frame. "She is nothing. You have me now, Breakaway, and I have you. Forget about this Autobot…"

"Breakaway?" Chromia asked, "Is that really you?"

Breakaway gently pushed Slipstream away from him. A look of confliction crossed his face, leaving him momentarily unsure on what to do.

"Breakaway…I'm sorry for how I treated you, when you arrived on Earth," Chromia said, deciding now was as good a time as any to get this off of her chest, "I know that you still feel something for me, otherwise you wouldn't have sought me out like this."

"Don't listen to her, Breakaway," Slipstream said, as soothingly seductive as ever, "She's just trying to misguide you. Your future is with me, not her."

Breakaway looked at Chromia and for a moment Chromia thought she saw some of that gentleness, that love that only the old Breakaway had shown her. He was still his normal self, deep underneath his new physical appearance and influence from Slipstream.

"I want to make things right between us," Chromia said, moving forwards slightly, "I know that the old Breakaway is still in there somewhere…"

"Don't listen to her Breakaway," Slipstream said, sounding annoyed. She shot a look at Chromia, transforming one of her arms into an energy cannon. Chromia saw this but was unafraid, knowing that if she could win Breakaway over then Slipstream's actions would be inconsequential…

"Chromia, I…" Breakaway began, but was interrupted by Slipstream.

"You're mine, Breakaway," Slipstream said, her voice taking on a more menacing edge, "And Chromia, here, is nothing. Why don't you prove your love for me by killing her?"

Breakaway seemed to consider this notion for a moment. He brought out his right arm cannon but seemed unsure on what to do with it. Chromia could see that he was conflicted, stuck between two extremes and gradually heading towards a breakdown.

"Please, Breakaway, I know you still love me," Chromia said, "Put away the weapon and…"

"Fine," Slipstream interrupted, sounding annoyed, "If you're not going to kill her, I'll do it myself."

She casually raised her energy cannon and fired, the blast slamming into Chromia's front. It blew a hole clean through her, sending her mangled corpse falling backwards into a puddle of blue-white energon fluid. Seeing this, Breakaway let out a yelp.

"NO!" He shouted. He swivelled around where he stood, facing Slipstream and fired a shot from his suppression cannon. The force of the blast sent Slipstream flying backwards, blowing a hole clean through her chest. She landed with a dull _thump_ nearby, looking towards Breakaway with a shocked expression on her metallic features. She remained where she was for a few seconds, trying to work out the extent of her injuries before she stopped moving, the glow in her red optics dying.

Racing to where Chromia lay, Breakaway put away his suppression cannon and hefted up the Autobot's light form. She was shaking in his arms, bleeding energon everywhere. Breakaway held her close to him, trying to contain his emotions as Chromia's movements ceased and the blue glow in her optics went out. Putting her body down, Breakaway remained still for a moment. The two driving forces in his life were gone, leaving him with nothing. He let out a despairing moan, unable to be believe what had just happened. Why did it have to end this way? So much had been lost through the war that it just seemed pointless even trying to win anymore. Chromia was gone, Slipstream was gone…It was not worth it anymore.

Reactivating his suppression cannon, he put the barrel to the underside of his head, closed his optic shutters and fired, embracing the oblivion beyond.


	36. Desperate Times

**Desperate Times…  
**December 17th, 2010  
Maracaibo, Venezuela

As dusk fell, the streets of Maracaibo had become mostly deserted. Some civilians were still about but the Decepticon attack had inclined many to remain indoors and hope it finished soon. Moving through the streets were the Autobots Optimus, Sideswipe, Ratchet and Deadeye. They were accompanied by Lennox, Epps and Winters. The group were moving quickly, working their way through the streets with the quarry outside of the city their intended destination. By now, the Decepticon known as 'Tidal Wave' had parked himself by the city, having assumed the form of an aircraft carrier. Decepticon jets zoomed overhead, their sights set on the Autobots who were making their way through the city streets. They were doing their best to mask their signals but it would be near impossible to get through the city without running into some Decepticons.

The group worked their way along the outskirts, coming into a district mostly comprised of office buildings a few storeys tall. Stopping in a courtyard between a few of the buildings, Optimus, who had been leading the group, held up one hand in a 'stop' signal. The others stopped behind him, their weapons drawn, suddenly alert. Lennox looked around but could see nothing out of the ordinary. There were a few people watching them through nearby windows, although it was obvious most were too concerned for their own safety to bother for very long.

"I don't see anything," Epps said from where he stood a short distance behind Lennox.

"I say we use this opportunity to take a break," Winters suggested, "I'm exhausted."

Sideswipe had both of his swords drawn, scanning his surroundings. Optimus had shifted his gaze to one of the office buildings up ahead, his optics resting on something he had seen on the roof. Pulling out one gun, he raised it, took aim and fired. The shot skimmed over the roof, blowing a chunk of masonry from the side but otherwise it did little else.

"Show yourself," Optimus called, lowering his weapon, "I know you are there."

"Who's there?" Deadeye asked, frowning, "I can't see anyone…"

On the roof, the hunched form of the Decepticon known as Prometheus revealed himself. He had been lying prone the entire time, watching and waiting for the group to arrive. His red optics went to Optimus and the Decepticon opened his arms in a welcoming gesture. Lennox, Epps and Winters had raised their weapons, holding them at the ready. Lennox did not like the way this situation had been set up: they were in this courtyard, surrounded on all sides by buildings and now it seemed that they had been being watched the entire time. Lennox had never seen the Decepticon that was on the roof, although he could tell that Optimus recognized him.

"Ah, Optimus Prime," Prometheus said, leering down at the group of Autobots, "I see you and I have crossed paths again…"

Deadeye had pulled out both of his weapons, aiming them at Prometheus. He glanced at Optimus with some annoyance.

"I say we waste him," Deadeye said.

Prometheus heard this and chuckled. Lennox had never heard a robot laugh before but it did sound somewhat bizarre. It occurred to him that Prometheus was yet another insane Decepticon, much like Centurion. The fiery look in the Decepticon's eyes was enough to certify this.

"I approach you as an equal," Prometheus said, "Otherwise my friends and I would have _wasted_ your group already." As he said this, several other Decepticons, all of them jet forms, showed themselves. They were on the roofs of the others buildings, unarmed for the moment and eyeing the Autobots carefully. Deadeye shifted his aim while Ratchet had pulled out his weapons and was trying to work out who he should shoot first if a firefight did break out.

"I don't like this," Epps said quietly.

"What's to like?" Winters asked. The group was surrounded, with Prometheus at the head of this group of Decepticons and now carrying a smug look on his metallic features.

"We'll stand our ground," Lennox said, despite the fact that even he thought this was a dumb idea, "As soon as the shooting starts we run as fast as we possibly can, otherwise we'll be caught in the crossfire."

"What do you want, Prometheus?" Optimus asked, cautious.

Prometheus smiled as he heard this.

"I want to give you and your friends a chance," Prometheus said, "A chance to live through the act of helping us. Very recently, an acquaintance of mine known as 'Slipstream' met a rather grisly demise, as did your old friend Breakaway and the Autobot Chromia."

Chromia was dead? Lennox frowned. How many Autobots were left now? Not very many, it seemed.

"Slipstream had planned to eliminate Centurion and take his powers for herself," Prometheus said, "We all know how insane Centurion is. He believes that by bringing Unicron into our reality he will be granted Godlike powers. That is nonsense, as Unicron only cares about one thing: himself. He will destroy us all if we allow him to enter this reality. In order to stop this from happening, we must destroy Centurion. You and I know just how dangerous he is, so we will need to work together in order to eliminate him…"

"Hold on a second," Sideswipe said, sounding incredulous, "You're suggesting we work with your sorry ass? Even if we succeeded in helping you get rid of Centurion, you'll just turn your guns on us and take his powers for yourself. None of us are stupid enough to trust you."

Prometheus laughed again. Lennox was getting tired of this confrontation, his finger rubbing on his rifle's trigger. They were surrounded, so any firefight might not last very long.

"Yes, but if you don't help me you'll die here," Prometheus said, looking smug.

"We don't need to kill Centurion to stop Unicron," Deadeye interjected. The others looked at him, confused. Deadeye sounded a bit withdrawn as he continued, but the point he made was entirely valid: "If Centurion needs Sam Witwicky's powers to activate the portal, then all we need to do is kill Sam Witwicky before Centurion has a chance to use him. With Sam gone we won't need to worry about Unicron…"

"Kill Sam?" Optimus was aghast. "Son, you know we don't harm humans…"

"Things have changed, father," Deadeye replied, adamant in the point he had made, "There are humans who are our enemies just as much as any Decepticon. Besides, Sam isn't human anymore."

"He's right, Optimus," Sideswipe said, "If all else fails, we're going to have to kill Sam. Tell Prometheus here that he can go to hell, since we're not working with him…"

Lennox looked towards Optimus, sensing the confliction within the Autobot. Killing Sam went against the very nature of the Autobot cause but in these desperate times…still, what were they going to do about Prometheus and his posse here?

"Have you made your decision, Prime?" Prometheus asked. He seemed to be eagerly awaiting Optimus' answer, judging by his wild-eyed look. Optimus was still considering, knowing full well the consequences of either possibility. They could help and probably get ambushed like this later, when Prometheus was at an advantage; or they could refuse to help and get rid of Prometheus when he did not have Centurion's powers. Despite the fact that they were surrounded by several Decepticons, the latter possibility was by far the most favourable. About killing Sam Witwicky, though…Optimus was against it entirely. He decided to put that matter aside for now, figuring that they could deal with it when the time came.

"I'll never help you, Prometheus," Optimus said, his tone level.

Prometheus managed a brief laugh, turning his right arm into his main cannon. The other Decepticons were readying their weapons, training them on the Autobots in the courtyard below. Lennox found it hard to choose a target since there were about nine Decepticons in total, all around them and all with their weapons readied.

"This is gonna suck," Epps stated flatly. Winters nodded his head in agreement.

"You're a fool, Prime," Prometheus spat, "And fools always die young." He signalled the Decepticons to open fire.

Immediately the Autobots scattered, weapons at the ready as the Decepticons opened fire. Chain gun rounds pounded into the ground all around the group, blowing up chunks of cement. The garden beds nearby were torn to shreds under the withering hail of fire as each Decepticon simply shot haphazardly from their vantage points and into the courtyard. The ambush had been engineered to ensure that the Autobots were caught in a hail of fire and hopefully torn to pieces as a result.

Deadeye stood confidently amongst the rain of bullets, ignoring the few that caught him in the torso as he held both of his guns, firing at the Decepticons on the roof ahead. His shots were deadly accurate, with a blast from each gun hitting the head of one of the Decepticons, blasting it apart and sending the rest of the Decepticon's corpse falling forwards off of the building and crashing into the ground. The young Autobot swivelled slightly and blasted another of the Decepticons in the chest, emptying several shots into this one and watching with some satisfaction as the Decepticon fell backwards and out of sight.

Lennox, Epps and winters had run for cover as the deafeningly loud hail of fire rained down all around. Optimus had pulled out both of his guns, one in each hand as he blasted a Decepticon off of the roof of a building on the left. As the Decepticon fell, Sideswipe moved up to where it fell and impaled the stunned Decepticon with his swords, ripping it in half.

"This is nuts," Epps said, "We're completely surrounded…"

"Yet these guys seem to have everything under control," Lennox replied. A slight grin crept upon his face. Despite the circumstances, it looked like they might just pull through.

Ratchet had his forearm grenade launcher out, copping a few rounds in the chest as he went to aim it. He stood his ground, launching a grenade and following it up with another. Both stuck to the front of a Decepticon on a nearby rooftop, causing that particular Decepticon to emit a cry of surprise. The grenades detonated and the Decepticon was blown to pieces, with only a pair of dismembered legs the only thing left.

Prometheus seemed angry at the way things were going, crediting the failure of the ambush to the sheer incompetence of the other Decepticons. He jumped off of his respective rooftop, switching his weapon from its main cannon to a subsidiary flamethrower. He charged towards Optimus, a frenzied look crossing his features as he let fly with his flamethrower. A stream of scorching hot orange flames shot forth, smothering Optimus and leaving burns all across his armour. The Prime lunged forwards and tackled Prometheus to the ground, switching his right arm to a sword and using this to cleave Prometheus' flamethrower arm clean off. The Decepticon howled in pain, using his free arm to push Optimus off of him.

Optimus rolled to a stop close by, standing up and turning to face Prometheus. In his peripheral vision, Optimus saw one of the other Decepticons had jumped off of its respective rooftop and had landed up ahead, training its chain gun in the Prime's direction. With a careful but quick move, Optimus grabbed Prometheus and pulled the Decepticon in front of him just as the other Decepticon fired, several high powered chain gun rounds slamming into Prometheus' front. Prometheus groaned and the other Decepticon stopped firing, looking momentarily confused as to what had just happened. Optimus raised one of his guns and fired, blasting a hole in the Decepticon's front. He fired a few more times, shooting down the Decepticon and killing it.

Prometheus, who was still just alive, struggled against Optimus' grip. By now the few remaining Decepticons had started to retreat, only for Deadeye to blast them down with uncanny accuracy. Prometheus was severely weakened from his wounds so Optimus had little trouble in holding him still, pressing one of his blades against the Decepticon's back.

"Where is Centurion now?" Optimus asked.

"He's heading…for the quarry…" Prometheus replied, his struggle against the Prime practically futile, "Not that it should matter to you…you won't be able to stop him, not now, not ever…"

"Centurion is not invincible," Optimus said, his tone level.

Deadeye had put away both of his weapons, the Decepticons having either retreated or were lying dead. He saw Optimus holding Prometheus and walked over, grabbing the wounded Decepticon from his father's grip and pulling free his own blade. Optimus watched this, surprised.

"What are you doing?"

"Decepticons like Prometheus don't deserve to live," Deadeye snapped, his tone startlingly hostile. Optimus could sense the anger in his son and could see that most of it was directed his way once again. Deadeye had grown up in a violent environment but never had Optimus seen him like this.

Prometheus barely had a chance to speak before Deadeye plunged his blade into the Decepticon's neck. With his free hand the young Autobot tore Prometheus' head clean off of his shoulders, the spinal column following it, trailing off of the torn head in a sickening fashion. It dripped blue-white energon fluid and Deadeye, taking a quick glance at it, tossed it aside before dropping Prometheus' headless corpse.

"Why did you do that for?" Optimus asked, aghast.

"Why does it matter?" Deadeye countered, "It's not as if you weren't going to kill him…"

Lennox, Epps and Winters emerged from cover, walking towards the Autobots. Lennox could see that another argument was brewing between Optimus and Deadeye. He simply sighed at this, shaking his head.

"Here we go again," he said quietly.

"He was beaten," Optimus continued, his gaze set on Deadeye, "I was going to offer him a chance to help us…"

"He would have just stabbed us in the back," Deadeye replied, shaking his head at his father in a pitying fashion, "All the Decepticons are like that. They betray each other all the time. To take one prisoner when we haven't got the facilities to hold prisoners is a mistake, so I did the next best thing: I put the bastard out of his misery."

"Killing wounded enemies, when they are in no state to fight back, is something the Decepticons would do," Optimus said, "You call yourself an Autobot?"

Lennox became aware of a distant sound, one that grew in volume and intensity as the seconds passed. It was definitely an incoming helicopter, perhaps several.

"Autobots, Decepticons…it doesn't matter anymore," Deadeye said, "You don't understand that the rules have changed, father. Everything has changed. As I said earlier, this isn't the war on Cybertron anymore. You have to get real and face the facts: we're not going to survive this if we don't start toughening up. Sparing wounded enemies isn't going to increase our chances of survival."

"Uh, Optimus…" Sideswipe began, having noticed the sound of the incoming helicopters. A few of them buzzed overhead: they were military helicopters, some of them transport ones and others attack helicopters.

"What you are saying is that we become as ruthless as our enemies in order to survive," Optimus replied, ignoring Sideswipe and keeping his gaze set on Deadeye, "You're throwing away the very values I made sure the Autobots remained true to…"

"It doesn't matter anymore," Deadeye said, "Not when there are so few of us left…"

"When we start acting like our enemies, what right do we have to be fighting them anymore? If we're not different than they are, what is the point of fighting when it no longer matters who wins and loses?"

Lennox's gaze had gone from Optimus and Deadeye, settling on the transport helicopter that had begun to set down across the courtyard. Ratchet and Sideswipe were watching it as well, having lost interest in the argument going on between Optimus and Deadeye.

"What we're fighting for now is the fate of this planet, of this galaxy…" Deadeye said, trailing off. He turned around and looked at the helicopter, watching as a few Venezuelan soldiers stepped off and took up positions nearby.

Lennox frowned when he saw General Carmona step off of the chopper, adorned in full military uniform. His uniform was decorated with numerous different coloured medals, showing off his military decorations in a rather stereotypical fashion. He looked at the Autobots, curious to see them in their full forms, before approaching Lennox, Epps and Winters. He held up his hands briefly to show that he was not armed.

"Major, I'm afraid we got off on the wrong foot earlier," Carmona said, stopping a short distance from where Lennox was standing, "In fact, you could say I failed to take advantage of the assets I was presented with."

"What the hell are you talking about?" Lennox asked. By now, Optimus and Deadeye had stopped arguing and were instead watching the exchange between Lennox and Carmona. They were cautious as towards the Venezuelan soldiers, especially since a pair of attack helicopters were hovering nearby and watching the entire exchange.

"This city has come under attack by a menace my military is not quite prepared to fight," Carmona said, "I wish to enlist the aid of these aliens to help in the defence of this city…"

"The man's finally coming to his senses," Epps commented. Carmona shot him a harsh look but Lennox caught the General's attention again.

"I'm glad you've decided to be all friendly now," Lennox said, "But if you want the help of these guys, you have to gain their trust. They'll help you fight off the bad guys, but they themselves have an important job to do."

"Such as?"

"That quarry outside of the city is their objective," Lennox explained, "They have to stop the bad guys from uncovering whatever is hidden there, otherwise nasty things will happen. To begin with, they actually have to get there first. Between here and there are a lot of Decepticons…"

"I assume the Decepticons are the bad guys you're referring to?" Carmona asked, raising an eyebrow.

"Indeed they are," Ratchet interjected, startling the General. He quickly regained his composure, although some of the soldiers standing behind him were looking somewhat uncomfortable in the presence of the intimidating looking Autobots.

"What about that aircraft carrier that's parked itself near the city?" Carmona asked, "Is that one of these 'Decepticons'?"

"Yeah," Lennox said, "I suggest you call in your air force to bomb the crap out of it, otherwise it'll provide a whole lot of hurt."

"With communications down, such a thing is difficult to organize," Carmona said, "But my men have discovered that older transistor radios still function." He pulled one from his belt and handed it to Lennox. "Use this to coordinate with my forces. Once we have dealt with the aircraft carrier, we will head on to the quarry together. If indeed 'nasty things' will occur if we let the Decepticons achieve their goals, then I feel it necessary we work together to avert this."

Lennox nodded. He was relieved that Carmona agreed, since he had had the feeling that maybe the Venezuelan military would consider him an enemy, along with the Autobots. Obviously Carmona was an intelligent man.

Lennox turned and looked up at Optimus, who stood nearby.

"Looks like we'll be getting some help," Lennox said.

"We'll need all the help we can get," Optimus answered.

Lennox returned his gaze to Carmona, who was standing patiently and putting on a confident demeanour. He was a General, so Lennox supposed it was his responsibility to act as a role model to his soldiers.

"You could try and get in touch with the United States government," Lennox said, "If they hear about what's happening here, they'll send help."

Carmona looked uncertain about this idea but otherwise nodded.

"I'll see what I can do," he said, "But with communications in the state they are now, it may be impossible to get in touch with something that far away."

Lennox knew this was true enough: global communications were down, causing all sorts of chaos all across the planet. The battle that went on here in Maracaibo may remain completely unnoticeable with global communications down. How were they supposed to get the help of the United States military when this was the case?

* * *

Crouched amongst some undergrowth and positioned on a hill, General Morshower held a pair of binoculars to his eyes and used them to scan the large quarry that was up ahead. A strange alien monolithic spire was towering out of the bottom of the quarry, going up about a third of the quarry's depth. It was bizarre, to say the least, but from the glimpse of the bottom of the quarry he could see from his vantage point it looked like an earthquake had struck, revealing the alien ruins beneath.

Sector Eight had the quarry locked down rather tightly, with mounted guns along the perimeter on numerous armed guards on patrol. Morshower had not caught a glimpse of anyone important, such as Colonel Weller, nor had he caught a glimpse of any Decepticons. However, the sounds of a distant battle could be heard from within the city of Maracaibo that was located some distance away.

Chromia, Firestar and Smokescreen had not returned from their respective tasks. Morshower could only assume the worst. Regardless, he knew that he and his group had to get in the quarry and destroy that alien structure, as well as find and eliminate Colonel Weller. Hopefully then the threat of Centurion achieving his goals would no longer be valid.

Still, Morshower was unsure about his chances against such a heavily armed force. He could not get in touch with the United States military. The situation was what many would call 'FUBAR'.

Behind him and further in the forest was the rest of his group, including James, Jones and Simmons who were sitting around and talking quietly. Some of the other soldiers were keeping watch while a pair of technicians was fiddling with a portable radio set.

Morshower lowered his binoculars and turned around, heading back to the rest of the group. His return caught most of the attention of the people within the group, although whatever he had been about to say was cut off with the roar of jet engines overhead. Looking up, he and the others watched as a squadron of Venezuelan fighter jets shot overhead, going for the city.

"Sir!" One of the technicians called from the portable radio, getting the General's attention.

"What is it?" Morshower asked, walking over.

"We're picking up low power radio traffic," the technician replied, fiddling with a dial on the portable radio, "It must be coming from an old transistor radio since at this range the signal is pretty weak."

"Let's have a listen," Morshower said.

The technician adjusted the tuning and turned up the volume: a familiar voice could be heard coming through the radio, sending a mix of confusion and relief through the General.

"_Okay, General: order the jets to use everything in their arsenal to take out that aircraft carrier."_ It was Lennox, there was no doubt about it. How he had come to be in Venezuela was anyone's guess.

What followed was some radio chatter between the pilots as they engaged an aircraft carrier, taking anti-aircraft fire and losing one plane as they hit the carrier with salvos of missiles. Morshower found that most of the people in the group had gathered around the radio, listening to the battle take place as the sounds of explosions echoed through the night from over in the city while the chatter played over the radio.

"_Shit, it looks like Tidal Wave's transforming,"_ Lennox said, his voice edged with concern.

"Tidal Wave?" James Turner interjected from behind, frowning. "Is he saying that the aircraft carrier is a _Decepticon_?"

"That would mean it'd be a pretty big one at that," Simmons added.

"_He's heading into the city…"_ Lennox said.

"_Would you look at the size of that thing?"_ This was Epps' voice. Morshower turned around and started for the nearby hill, this time putting the binoculars to his eyes and looking towards the city. He could see Tidal Wave alright, towering over most of the buildings with jets buzzing around him and firing their machines guns into him.

"_We can't bring him down in the city, Major!"_ This was the voice of some Venezuelan man, probably the one in charge of the military forces in the city. _"The collateral damage would be far too catastrophic."_

"_He'll probably head for the quarry,"_ Lennox replied.

Morshower continued to watch as Tidal Wave stomped through the city, swatting aside the incoming Venezuelan jet fighters like flies.

"Does that mean that mother-fucker's coming this way?" Jones asked, raising an eyebrow. "Shit…We have to get out of here."

"We can't leave, sonny," Simmons said, much to Jones' chagrin, "We have to get into the quarry, remember?"

"_We're going to have to beat Tidal Wave to the quarry,"_ Lennox said, _"Once he's out of the city, General, order in another attack wave. We need to bring him down."_

Morshower lowered the binoculars and returned to where the rest of the group was. Some of them looked gravely concerned and some, like Jones, looked genuinely frightened. He supposed that this was understandable, considering their circumstances.

"Okay, people, listen up," Morshower said, catching the group's attention. Counting them all up in his mind, he found that this motley group consisted of: three civilians (Jones, James and Simmons), five soldiers, four technicians and two engineers. It was not much, considering that they could very well be all that was left of the force that had been on Diego Garcia. As such, their approach into the quarry would require a lot of coordination and a good degree of luck.

"We have to get into that quarry and make sure the Decepticons don't get what they're after," Morshower said, "But the problem with this is that there are numerous Sector Eight soldiers in our way. I know that some of you aren't trained for combat, but we're the only people in a position to do something about what's going on. The fate of the world is at stake, but if, for any reason, you do not wish to be a part of this, step forward. I will understand, since not all of you are soldiers."

Jones was about to step forwards but James grabbed him by the shoulder, making eye contact with him. This simple gesture was enough to dissuade Jones from stepping forwards any further. Otherwise, no one else stepped forwards. Morshower nodded his approval, his expression neutral.

"I'm glad we all know our duty," he said, "The task at hand is dangerous and not all of us may survive. But if we succeed, our names will be remembered in the history books. Until Major Lennox and the Venezuelan military are in a position to help, we must strike the first blow against Sector Eight. We must take control of the quarry and we must destroy the alien weapon within."

He paused. Everybody seemed to agree, even though Morshower himself thought the plan was suicidal. He was not about to pass up the opportunity to deliver a good speech, even if it seemed a bit clichéd.

"We are faced with difficult odds but we will succeed," Morshower continued, "Every man here knows his duty. Every man here knows that they may die tonight. Every man here knows that no matter what happens, Centurion must not succeed. Sector Eight must not succeed. _We_ must succeed." He paused for a moment, before continuing: "Our approach will need much planning and much luck. Hopefully, by the time we are ready, some help will have arrived. But if the Decepticons are already on their way, we can't afford to waste anymore time than we need to."

"He's making it sound like we're all going to die," Jones whispered so only James and Simmons could hear.

"I know," James replied, "But we all have to die some day."

"I don't want to die," Jones said, frowning.

"Neither do I," James said, "But it might happen anyway."

"That's reassuring," Simmons interjected, his tone one of sarcasm.


	37. Call for Desperate Measures

…**Call for Desperate Measures  
**December 17th, 2010  
"_Have you ever wondered how the Cybertronians reproduce?"_

Sam Witwicky once again found himself in his dreamscape, although this time it was not because he was unconscious: no, this time he had been sitting down in the quarry, being watched by Major Taylor when all of a sudden his darker self showed up, chiming in with the very curious question that had always bugged Sam ever since he had become aware of the existence of the Cybertronians. And now his surroundings had changed to that of his "safe haven": his home in Tranquility, Nevada, as it had been before he had departed for college.

Sitting in the couch in the lounge, Sam sat up and his gaze immediately went to his darker self who was standing nearby, looking at his counterpart with a scornful look on his metallic features. The real-world Sam was confused for a moment, thinking that if he was hallucinating like this when he was still awake then he really was losing his mind. That was the one thing that was bugging him: whether or not he was simply going crazy or there was indeed some future version of himself playing with his head, messing with his thoughts…Naturally, asking his darker self about this would not yield a helpful answer. It was frustrating but it also made a strange sort of sense. What hallucination would tell the one hallucinating that they were not real?

Sam could hardly believe it: another trip into his madness, if this was what it was. This place, his "safe haven": it may have been based on a real location but it was not real at all. Whether his darker self was actually real was another question, one that had no real answer at the moment. Sam supposed he would work it out eventually, as well as determine the nature of the things he had discovered on his last visit. His imaginary depictions of Christopher Walken and Jones Marshall had implied that Sam was part of a "cycle" and a very important one at that. Of course, Sam had no idea how as to what nature this "cycle" was, or whether it was just another part of his imagination. He was losing his mind, he knew that much. To descend further into madness because of all that had happened to him, such as his physical transformation and the death of Mikaela…

And now here he was again, dreaming this whole place up and the whole scenario.

"Uh…what?" Sam asked, looking towards his darker self with a bemused expression. He had not quite heard the question right, at least he had thought he had not…

"_You're practically Cybertronian now, Sam,"_ his darker self said, _"So, it makes sense if you learn a bit more about them. Such as reproduction."_

What did that have anything to with his current circumstances? Sam shook his head, standing up and taking a look around the living room. It seemed that this time around it was just him and his darker self. There was no Jones Marshall, no Christopher Walken…

"Reproduction?" Sam returned his gaze to his darker self and shook his head. "Hell no. I don't want to know…"

_"But you have to!"_ His darker self's voice went to a harsher tone, as if the matter was somewhat more important than Sam had first thought it to be.

"Why?" Sam asked, "I don't think…"

"_I want to show you something, Sam,"_ his darker self interrupted, starting for the stairs, _"Come with me."_

Sam was left standing in the living room, trying to work out what he should do. Obviously there was no immediate way out of this whacked-out dreamscape, nor was there any visible way to avoid the awkward topic of Cybertronian reproduction. The stern gaze his darker self shot him from halfway up the stairs was enough to incline Sam to follow him. Along the way Sam was left feeling confused and a little frightened at what lay ahead, wondering if this was just further evidence of his dwindling sanity.

"What's so important about Cybertronian reproduction?" Sam asked as he followed his darker self up the stairs and down the hallway on the second floor, "What has it got to do with me?"

_"Everything, or perhaps nothing,"_ his darker self replied,_ "What do you think? Is this a genuine situation or just a sign of your dwindling sanity?"_

Sam would have sighed but Cybertronians had no need to (they did not need air, to begin with; without air, one could not sigh). Why did he never get a straight answer from anyone in this place?

"I have no idea," Sam said. He stopped when his darker self stopped at the door into his bedroom, which was closed. From behind, Sam could make out a noise: it sounded like a faint squeaking but with a metallic grind behind it. As a whole, it was bizarre: Sam had no idea what could be causing it. His darker self slowly pushed open the door, stepping into the bedroom.

Sam followed him inside, slowly. There were no noticeable differences in the bedroom from the last time he had been in this dreamscape, save for the metal pod that was now positioned in one corner. The strange metallic squeaking sound was emanating from there. From where Sam stood, it looked like the sort of thing an infant would sleep in…Upon realizing this, he froze. He did not want to go any closer, frozen with fear on what he would find. However, his darker self simply grabbed him by one arm and pulled him along, bringing him up alongside the Cybertronian designed pod.

"_That's the future, Sam,"_ his darker self said, looking down at what lay in the pod, _"You should be proud."_

Sam's gaze went down to the pod. Upon seeing the creature within, he felt a wave of confusion, only for it to slowly give way to a rapid realization. He was gazing at a Cybertronian infant, or a "sparkling" as they were properly known. It was small and underdeveloped, only slightly larger than an ordinary human infant. It was slickened with energon fluid, with weaker metal "flesh" and small, half-opened red optics. It was writhing about, making the squeaking metallic grinding sound, acting quite like a human infant.

"What the fuck?" Sam managed to say after a moment of stunned silence. He looked to his darker self, who was gazing down at the infant with what seemed to be a look of awe on his face. "What the hell is the meaning of this? What are you trying to tell me?"

"_You should know, Sam,"_ his darker self said, returning his gaze to his counterpart,_ "Deep down, you know. The knowledge the Matrix of Leadership gave you should let you know. The Cybertronian parts of your mind should know. Have you ever wondered how Cybertronians reproduce, how they have children, sons and daughters?"_

"They're robots," Sam said, "How can they really have kids?"

_"They're not robots,"_ his darker self countered, rolling his optics, _"They're chemical based life-forms. They are 'organic' in their own way. What made you think alien life would be anything like what's on Earth? This isn't _Star Trek_, you know. Aliens, in reality, are _very_ alien."_

Sam was confused. Here they were, in some sort of dream, faced with a Cybertronian sparkling and talking about alien reproduction. It was bizarre, this much was obvious to Sam.

"_When two Cybertronians like each other a lot they usually end up 'interfacing',"_ his darker self said with the Cybertronian equivalent of a smirk, _"It's pretty much their equivalent of sex, though gender in the Cybertronian race is meaningless. If they want to have offspring, they have to combine their life energies enough in order for one of them to start developing a sparkling in their own life-spark, which takes time but eventually they give birth and…Well, I can't really explain it. It's a mystery, really, how it works. But you, Sam, need to know a few things."_

Sam raised an eyebrow ridge, glancing down at the sparkling again. It did have its own sort of cuteness, primarily because the Cybertronian parts of his mind were making him think this. He felt an odd connection to it, like he was meant to be its guardian…

"_You're a special case, Sam,"_ his darker self said, _"As am I, being you and you being me…Anyway, as I stated earlier, you're part of a cycle. A grand one at that. If Unicron gets his own way, then you can kiss your sorry ass goodbye. But, if you accept your destiny, you can beat him. You can go onwards and start a new golden era for Cybertron."_

"What are you talking about?" Sam asked, unable to quite believe what he was hearing. He was finding all of this terribly hard to follow.

"_I'm talking about your future, Sam,"_ his darker self said, _"The future of the human race, of the Cybertronian race…Have you ever considered being a father some day?"_

"Uh…no, not really…I never really considered it…" Sam did not like where this was going. Still, an odd curiosity kept him engaged in the conversation. He did still think he was losing his mind, though. This whole thing was getting a bit too much for someone like him to digest easily.

"_You must accept your destiny,"_ his darker self replied, _"And by doing that, you will defeat Unicron. But if you don't, then one of your possible futures, the most prosperous and successful one, will be cancelled out of existence. I know it may not sound lime much to you, that you might think you're going crazy and you could very well be…"_

"Am I going crazy?" Sam asked. His darker self shrugged in response.

"_Maybe…"_

Sam shook his head. Always the same answer, it seemed. There were never any definite answers to be gained from these hallucinations, or visions or whatever they were. There were always cryptic responses, clues given when he needed them most but there was nothing he genuinely knew for certain when it came to his darker self. Whether it was a vivid hallucination because of his growing insanity or a message from the future or an alternate reality, it was impossible to tell.

"_That sparkling, Sam,"_ his darker self continued, nodding towards the Cybertronian infant in the pod, _"It's yours, Sam. It's mine. It's ours, just not in…that way…"_

His darker self smiled upon saying this. Sam, on the other hand, opened his optics wide in confusion. How could that even be possible?

"What? Are you saying that I'm going to…going to…" He struggled with the notion. In fact, he was beginning to feel a bit sick. This was insane, _he_ was insane…It was obvious, really. To start having vivid hallucinations like this: it obviously meant that he was going nuts. Everything that had happened to him had taken its toll on him, physically and mentally. Now it was finally beginning to have a noticeable effect on his mental state of mind.

"_You're going to be a father, Sam,"_ his darker self said, _"But only if you accept your destiny."_

"And what would that be?" Sam asked, his tone noticeably more strained. This was too much and so many questions now buzzed around in his head, although it seemed unlikely he would get any straight answers from this hallucination.

"_The saviour of the Cybertronian race,"_ his darker self said, _"You must become me in order to defeat Unicron. You must become as sick and twisted as the evil you are fighting in order to defeat it, but you must remember that Primus is always willing to forgive…"_

"Primus?" Sam was barely able to concentrate now. He knew that he was going mad and he figured that rather than fight it, he may be better off resigning himself to his insanity. What harm what that cause? Well, it would certainly harm his mental health but other than that it might be the one thing that could pull him through the events to come.

"_God, Sam. Primus is the Cybertronian God. For all the evil one causes, Primus is always willing to forgive. And he has plans for you in particular, just as Unicron does. You've been manipulated by both the good and the evil, the light and the dark…And I'm here to guide you to the better result. I'm you, as you will become if you accept the destiny Primus has laid out before you and not the one Unicron has conceived. Though you will become but a shadow of your former self, it will ensure the defeat of Unicron."_

"But what has me being a father got to do with this?" Sam asked, still quite unable to believe it.

"_Everything. If you do not accept your destiny, you will never become a father. Humanity will be destroyed, the Cybertronians will be destroyed and Unicron will be free to roam the multiverse and destroy as many different universes as he pleases."_

"How do I know that Unicron didn't send you?" Sam asked, "How do I know you're not just here to make sure I follow the plans Unicron has set up?"

His darker self shrugged, almost nonchalantly. He must have been expecting a question like this, though he did not have much of an answer. This simply lead to making Sam's uncertainty increase dramatically.

"_You have my word that I'm a servant of Primus,"_ his darker self said,_ "Other than that, it's up to you what you want to believe."_

"Shit," Sam said simply. He had no idea what to do now, what to believe, what to think…He was confused, torn between staying what he was now or becoming some sick and twisted former shadow of himself. He figured he was already partly the way there, since he now had many scars and similar physical characteristics that his darker self had.

"If I'm a father, then who's the mother?" Sam asked.

"_Father and mother are two terms that are not really applicable to a race such as the Cybertronians, but using them simplifies matters dramatically,"_ his darker self replied, _"But if you wish to know, I will tell you…"_

"Go on…"

_"Primus has plans for you, he has plans for all of us. Your sparkling holds a special significance, since it will inherit your powers which you received from the Matrix of Leadership and it will be born of the guardian angel that Primus sent forth in the form of the son of Optimus Prime…"_

"Deadeye?" Sam scoffed. "He's the father…mother…whatever guy? That's crazy, especially the part about him being a 'guardian angel'…"

"_It's true. Unicron had everything in this reality planned the way he wanted it to be…except for one very important thing. Deadeye, the offspring of Optimus Prime and reckless, arrogant young Autobot. It is because of him that Centurion's arrival on Earth in 1944 caused nothing but a minor incident known to very few people. It is because of him that Unicron has been forced to alter his plans and his manipulations, to try and compensate for this new variable. Of the infinite alternate realities, Deadeye first came to existence within our one. It shows just how important he is."_

"Let me get this straight: I'm going to have a Cybertronian kid with Deadeye, who is in fact an angel sent by Primus, but only if I accept my destiny and become an utter bastard like you?" Sam shook his head. The whole thing was far too crazy to simply accept on the spot. He was now certain he was losing his mind.

"_That's about the extent of it,"_ his darker self replied, _"Either that, or I'm just an hallucination caused by your dwindling sanity. Either possibility has its own supporting evidence."_

"And you said my kid was going to be significant?" Sam asked.

"_Indeed: it will be what rallies the remaining Autobots and Decepticons together, for there are still many out in space and many on the devastated world of Cybertron. They will see that a Decepticon having a sparkling with an Autobot as a sign that both sides are not entirely different, and the promise of settling a new world, a New Cybertron, will be difficult to resist…"_

"But Deadeye has no interest in me," Sam said, "At least, not in the way that leads to him wanting to, you know…"

"_He cares about you, Sam,"_ his darker self explained, _"He hides his feelings from you, but deep down he feels something for you. Whether or not you reciprocate these feelings has all to do with whether or not you're willing to accept your destiny."_

"As if Deadeye feels that way about me," Sam said, shaking his head in incredulity to the entire conversation. It was insane, he was insane…the whole thing just kept getting more and more absurd. "He even said something about killing me, back at the Sector Eight facility, if only to make sure Centurion can't use me to bring Unicron into our reality…"

"_He's in denial of what he feels about you,"_ his darker self replied, _"He doesn't want to admit it, but he knows it's there. And if you accept the destiny Primus has laid before you, then you will reciprocate his feelings and have the most important sparkling in the history of the Cybertronian race. And then you will go forth to find a New Cybertron, a place where the remnants of the Cybertronian race can settle and live in peace."_

"And…" Sam trailed off, struggling to come up with what he wanted to say. He could hardly believe what was being said, whether it was true or not…

"And what do I have to do to accept this destiny you keep mentioning?" Sam asked, finally getting the question out of his mouth. To have the fate of an entire universe placed on his shoulders was daunting enough, but to be told he would be having an alien child…_that_ was disconcerting. And he had never thought Deadeye had had feelings for him in those regards, anyway.

* * *

James Turner had disagreed with Morshower's plan but the General did make a point: until Lennox and the Venezuelan military showed up, it would be up to the small group of survivors from Diego Garcia to do something about the Sector Eight presence in the quarry. To top it off, the Decepticons were on their way as well as that massive one, Tidal Wave. He was stomping through the city of Maracaibo, getting attacked by jet fighters but they seemed nothing more than mere nuisances to him. He swatted and blasted a few away as he stormed through the city, kicking holes in buildings and flattening the smaller structures.

So, James had agreed to follow Morshower's instructions. Stepping towards the front gate of the quarry, James' approach caught the attention of the few guards here. All of them looked mightily bored though the one in charge was the first to stand up and raise his rifle, pointing it at James with a confused look on his face. James could see movement in his peripheral vision as the soldiers in Morshower's group began to take position amongst the undergrowth. All he had to do was buy some time…

"Hey, boys, I'm kind of lost," James said, smiling at the guards and holding up his hands to show that he was unarmed…at least, it appeared to the guards that he was. A Beretta pistol was tucked into his pants at his back.

"Who are you and what are you doing here?" The lead guard asked, "This area is strictly off limits to the public…"

"It is?" James shrugged. "Damn, I didn't know…That doesn't mean you have to go pointing a gun at me."

The guards lowered their weapons, somewhat slowly as if they sensed that there was something not quite right with the situation. James lowered his hands slowly as well, putting his hands behind his back. His right hand wrapped around the grip of the pistol he had stuck through the belt of his pants, hidden from view of the guards. He was not too sure about killing these guys, especially since they outnumbered him but Morshower had convinced him that these men needed to be removed, one way or another. Gaining control of the quarry was a top priority.

"Move along, civilian," the lead guard said, "Otherwise I'll have to arrest you."

James nodded, lulling the guards into a false sense of security. At that moment he pulled out his pistol and before any of the guards could react he had blasted the lead guard in the right leg, straight through the shin. Morshower's men opened fire from the undergrowth some distance away, causing James to dive for the ground. The other guards were cut down in a hail of gunfire, with one stunned looking guard falling into a heap a mere metre from where James had dived. His blank eyes stared ahead, a pool of blood forming around his body.

James stood up while Morshower and his soldiers emerged from the bushes. The soldiers were quick to secure the front gate, with one heading into the guardhouse and finding a Sector Eight soldier on the phone, presumably in an effort to get in touch with the rest of the Sector Eight forces in the quarry. A single shot in the back of the head silenced this particular guard, sending his body slumping forwards onto the desk. The noise of the weapons firing was enough to send an alert through the entire quarry as to the presence of the intruders, meaning that they would have to work quickly.

Following Morshower and the soldiers, Jones, Simmons and the rest of the group walked to the main gate before heading inside the relative comfort of the guardhouse. Some of the technicians began to set up their radio on a table inside. James looked to Morshower, frowning with some disdain.

"We don't have to kill them all," James said, "We could have asked them to surrender…"

"And waste more time?" Morshower shook his head. "We're cutting it close as it is. These men won't surrender, just as mine won't surrender. If you have problems with the way I'm running things, you should just leave…"

There was the sound of a jet roaring outside. The attention of the group went to the perimeter fence, where Centurion had touched down, having unfolded himself from his jet form. He was followed by Megatron and the two of them proceeded to bust down the fence and start into the quarry.

Morshower returned his gaze to James.

"That's what I mean by being short on time," he said, nodding in the direction of the two Decepticons had had since started into the quarry. An alarm had sounded throughout the quarry and Sector Eight soldiers, some carrying prototype rail guns, started to set up defensive positions throughout. Several others had started in the direction of the main gate in order to investigate the noise caused by the brief firefight that had occurred there.

"There are going to be Sector Eight soldiers shooting at us and the Decepticons," Morshower continued, "And we are going to be shooting at the Sector Eight soldiers and the Decepticons, while the Decepticons are going to be shooting at us and Sector Eight. It's going to be a damn confusing mess all around. I'll be staying here to oversee the operation. Whether you want to help, James, is up to you. It's obvious you can handle a weapon…"

"I don't want to kill anybody," James said, "I may have shot a guy in the leg, but I didn't kill him. Your men did that instead."

Outside, a pair of Sector Eight soldiers had taken position amongst some undergrowth. Between them they carried a large prototype rail gun, capable of punching a hole through even the thickest armour.

"You're going to have to have the guts to kill someone if you're going to be of any help," Morshower countered, "You do realize what's at stake here?"

"Yes, but…"

"Rail gun!" One of the soldiers outside the guardhouse shouted. This was followed by a quick "Get down!"

James did exactly that, diving to the floor just as he heard a loud metallic _shing_ sound. The rail gun round collided with the side of the gatehouse, blasting away most of the wall and shattering the windows. Debris rained down all around as the rail gun shot passed straight through the gatehouse and hit the ground outside, blasting a large hole and sending the few people standing near it flying.

As the dust settled, James slowly rose out of the debris. He looked around, watching as a pair of Morshower's soldiers opened fire on the Sector Eight soldiers wielding the rail gun. Both Sector Eight soldiers were cut down, their bodies twisting and convulsing as each bullet impacted them.

Morshower lay in the rubble nearby, sitting up and looking a little dazed. There was a cut on his forehead which bled somewhat, otherwise the General was still alive. The same could not be said for several of the other people in their group, although Jones and Simmons were standing nearby and brushing themselves down in order to get rid of the dust that had gotten all over their clothes.

"You have any objections about killing these guys now, Mr. Turner?" Morshower asked as he stood up, rubbing his head. He picked up a rifle from a fallen soldier and threw it to Jones, how fumbled it with surprise.

"What the hell, man?" Jones asked, eyes wide as he looked down at the rifle in his hands, "I don't use guns, alright? I've never fired a gun in my life!"

"There's a first time for everything," Morshower said bluntly in response. He took up a shotgun which had been left on the table nearby, handing it to Simmons who took it with a slight frown.

"I never really envisioned myself ending up in a shootout with some disgruntled soldiers," Simmons commented.

"What's the plan now, General?" James asked. He was not too convinced that coming into the quarry had been a good idea, especially since now most of their group was either dead or wounded.

"We go into the quarry and we take out Colonel Weller," Morshower said, "Hopefully by the time we do that, Lennox and the Venezuelan military would have arrived and engaged the Decepticons."

Outside, another few Decepticon jets touched down and started into the quarry. By now a shootout had erupted within the grounds of the quarry between the Sector Eight soldiers and the Decepticons. It seemed that the whole situation was getting progressively more out of control.

"That's a lot of hoping," Simmons said.

"It's all we can really do," Morshower replied, "In the meantime, we should get moving. I think Sector Eight will be too busy fighting the Decepticons to worry about us."


	38. All Along the Watchtower

**All Along the Watchtower  
**December 17th, 2010  
Somewhere outside Maracaibo, Venezuela

Riding along in Optimus Prime's vehicle mode, Major William Lennox was especially concerned about the current situation involving the massive Decepticon known as 'Tidal Wave'. Epps sat next to him within the vehicle, with Winters travelling along in Deadeye's vehicle mode. The other two Autobots in the group, Ratchet and Sideswipe, were also in their vehicle forms and were speeding along in a convoy style manner as they pursued Tidal Wave whilst keeping a safe distance. The massive Decepticon towered high above the countryside, stomping around and enjoying himself while swatting Venezuelan fighter jets out of the air. By now night had fallen across the country, providing a great contrast to the bright streaks of tracer fire as the remaining fighter jets attempted to bring down Tidal Wave but with little success. High powered machine gun rounds did nothing but irritate the large Decepticon who used the many mounted guns on his shoulders and arms to bring down the jets. He would even swat some aside with his powerful arms, sending them spiralling into the ground where they would explode into a ball of flame, sending debris raining down all around.

Tidal Wave was on his way to the quarry. From recent reports Lennox had received, there was already a firefight in progress at the quarry as Decepticons attempted to break through the Sector Eight defences there and reach the alien weapon within. Allowing Tidal Wave to get to the quarry would make things even more difficult than they already were, so it was imperative that the massive Decepticon be taken down before he made it there. Lennox was unsure on just how they would take down such an intimidating foe. General Carmona, the Venezuelan officer who was barking orders to his soldiers through old fashioned radios (as these were the only ones that worked through the global communications blackout) seemed to have just as little idea on how to take down Tidal Wave as Lennox did. As the convoy of four Autobots kept track of Tidal Wave, it became obvious that the massive Decepticon would make short work of any sort of direct attack…at least this was until Lennox noticed that Tidal Wave had gone into a sort of valley. Seeing this, he ordered Optimus and the other Autobots to stop on a nearby ridge.

He was not too confident about the idea he had but it was probably the only decent one he could come up with. The situation was desperate and they could not afford to waste anymore time. Lennox climbed out of Optimus' vehicle form, followed by Epps while Winters emerged from Deadeye's vehicle mode. Tidal Wave was stomping through the valley, headed for the quarry with very little between him and his intended location.

Lennox took out the transistor radio Carmona had given him earlier. The Venezuelan General was probably not very interested in whatever plan an American like Lennox could cook up but hopefully the General was desperate enough to listen. As far as Lennox could tell, the state of the battle was wildly in the favour of Tidal Wave and not the human military. To let a foe like Tidal Wave lay waste to Venezuela was probably something the General would not allow and hopefully he would take note of any suggestions Lennox could make about how to tackle the situation. Tidal Wave was in a valley and chances were he would follow it to the quarry.

"Lennox, how are we going to take this fucker down?" Epps said as he stepped up alongside the Major. Lennox was trying to think, switching on the radio and tuning it to the frequency Carmona had specified. The General was still barking orders at the remaining pilots who were airborne, their jets buzzing around and making strafing runs on Tidal Wave. Of course, they were not having very much luck at bringing down the behemoth.

"General, this is Major Lennox," Lennox said, watching as Tidal Wave turned the missile launchers on one shoulder to a pair of jets that were racing towards him. A salvo of guided missiles swept forth with the pilots of both jets letting off flares and breaking off from their attack. Even so, some of the missiles found their way through the rain of bright flares and connected with the jets, obliterating them and sending debris raining from on high.

"_What is it, Major?"_ Carmona asked with some disdain, _"You should know, I have my hands full at the moment…"_

"I know that, but I think we have a chance of bringing down Tidal Wave," Lennox replied, although there was clearly some uncertainty in his voice.

"_How do you suggest we kill him, then?"_ Carmona asked, _"Everything we've thrown at him so far has had little effect…"_

"That's because we haven't been using our resources properly," Lennox replied, "Simply throwing jets at him isn't going to be enough. We need a coordinated plan. That's why I'm suggesting we take advantage of the fact that he has stepped into a valley by lining up tanks, artillery and launchers all along the sides of the valley and hammering him. While he's vulnerable, we can send the air force in to finish him off…"

There was a pause from Carmona as he mulled over the idea. Lennox exchanged looks with Epps as the pause went for a little longer than expected.

"_It will be several minutes before I can arrange a last force like that to go into position,"_ Carmona said, _"But even when they do, how do you know our weapons will even so much as slow him down?"_

"First, we slow him down," Lennox said, beginning to formulate a much clearer plan in his mind, "And then you bring in the most powerful thing you've got, preferably carried on a jet…"

_"We haven't got nuclear weapons…"_

"I didn't say it had to be nuclear," Lennox replied, "But it can be something like a bunker buster. Have you got one of those?"

"_I think so. But if we stuff up and miss our chance of delivering it, then…"_

"Then Tidal Wave will continue laying waste to the countryside," Lennox finished. It was a risky plan, especially since it was unlikely that a military like the one here in Venezuela would have access to plenty of powerful weapons, such as bunker busters. They probably only had one or two, saving them for a special occasion. Now seemed like a very special occasion since it was not every day an aircraft-carrier sized Decepticon went on the rampage.

"_It will be several minutes before I can organize such a large scale attack,"_ Carmona said, _"Let's hope things go according to plan."_

Carmona chimed out and Lennox put away the radio. He looked at Epps, who seemed just as uncertain as he did about the plan.

"You think this will work?" Epps asked, looking at Lennox. The Major shrugged.

"It's worth a shot," Lennox answered, "It certainly beats taking the bastard head on…"

_"Taking him head-on might be the only way to stop him,"_ Deadeye said from behind. He unfolded himself from his vehicle form, as did the other Autobots, until they stood tall and proud in their full robot modes. "At least, I wouldn't mind taking him head-on."

"You'd be foolish to try such a thing," Optimus said, his tone level as he turned to face his son. Deadeye gave the Cybertronian equivalent of a shrug in response.

"How does a Decepticon end up getting so big anyway?" Sideswipe asked.

"Probably another one of Centurion's experiments," Ratchet said, "It seems very likely that Centurion wanted to create a powerful soldier, so he took one ordinary Cybertronian and subjected him to all sorts of horrible experiments. It might explain Tidal Wave's size and limited intelligence."

Lennox reached for the binoculars stuck to his waist, grabbing them and putting them up to his eyes. Tidal Wave was stomping away gradually, swatting aside annoying Venezuelan fighter jets while several Decepticon jets buzzed around him. Across the valley, upon another ridge, Lennox could see numerous tanks and mobile artillery units rolling up and taking position. They were shifting their aim onto Tidal Wave, as were the several other tanks and mobile artillery units that had begun to park up further along the ridge Lennox and his group stood upon.

"Here we go," Epps commented, just as the first of the artillery opened fire.

What followed was a long, drawn-out and very loud continuous volley of heavy weapons fire as tanks, mobile artillery and several missile launchers opened fire on Tidal Wave. The valley was filled with the loud _thumps_ and _booms_ as the heavy guns fired, the artillery shells whistling through the air as they approached their target and impacted Tidal Wave. Each shot blasted a small hole in the massive Decepticon, causing him to emit a near deafening roar of anger as he tried to turn around and face whatever was causing the damage. There were simply too many enemies blasting him at once, with bursts of flame erupting upon Tidal Wave's form as the damage continued. With a surge of anger Tidal Wave swivelled some of his guns about, firing on the distant tanks and artillery. Lennox watched through his binoculars as some of the tanks and mobile artillery units were blasted to pieces, with the gun crews fleeing as the heavy weapons fire connected with their vehicles and cut through the thick armour with startling ease.

Lennox felt oddly powerless as he stood here and watched the scene unfold, knowing that he could do very little to help out. Tidal Wave seemed to be enjoying himself, cutting down the Venezuelan military hardware with an evil metallic grin on his face. Lennox glanced over at the Autobots, taking note of Deadeye's displeased expression and contrasted it with Optimus' completely neutral gaze. Sideswipe seemed to be getting restless while Ratchet was simply shaking his head, unable to quite understand the waste of life that was occurring. Lennox felt a pang of guilt, having been the one to come up with the plan. Still, they were desperate and they needed to get rid of Tidal Wave somehow…

The roar of a jet up high alerted the group to the new arrival: it was a slightly different jet to the other ones the Venezuelans had buzzing around, designed with the purpose of carrying heavy ordinance. Lennox felt a surge of hope upon seeing this jet, knowing that it was the one carrying the bunker buster, one of the most powerful non-nuclear weapons in existence. They called the bomb a "bunker buster" since it was designed to penetrate underground and detonate, presumably destroying whatever underground bunker it had been targeting.

"Here it comes," Epps said, seeing the jet up high, "Let's hope to God this works."

The jet released its ordinance and the bunker buster missile started on a low trajectory, heading straight for Tidal Wave. Before the Decepticon could react it had impacted with his front, going straight through his armour and becoming stuck within his chest. Tidal Wave roared with pain, with blue-white energon fluid flowing out of the wound and splattering onto the long grassy plains below. Before he could react further, the missile detonated and blasted a massive hole straight through him. Lennox felt his teeth rattle as the shockwave erupted forth, causing the ground to vibrate and rattling the leaves in the trees all around. Pieces of Tidal Wave were sent flying forth, raining down all around as Tidal Wave himself managed one last futile movement as he put his hands to the massive gaping hole that had been blasted through him. Within seconds he was falling, blue-white energon seeping out along with molten metal as he fell. The hole in his chest was large enough to have taken out his neck, causing his head to simply fall off and roll a short distance before coming to rest, its red optics dimmed and staring vacantly ahead.

After the dust had settled, Lennox found himself staring at the dismembered Decepticon with a fascinated gaze. It was certainly gratifying to see such an intimidating foe get literally blown to pieces. He exchanged grins with Epps before looking at the Autobots, taking note of how Deadeye was "high-fiving" Sideswipe.

"The bastard's down," Deadeye said with a smile as he turned around to face the rest of the group, "That means we can get to the quarry and find Sam."

"You're making it sound easy," Ratchet said, "I very much doubt it will be. There are still Decepticons at large and Sector Eight has the quarry heavily guarded…"

"Don't be such a party pooper," Deadeye replied, "Tidal Wave's down, so that's an excuse to at least feel good about all of this." He looked towards Optimus, narrowing his gaze. "What do you think, Optimus? You think we have a chance of pulling through?"

"If we can formulate an effective plan then maybe we can even the odds," Optimus replied, "That doesn't mean you can get overconfident, son. Not at this crucial juncture."  
Deadeye seemed to give the Cybertronian equivalent of a shrug.

"What do you suggest we do, then?" He asked, frowning.

"We tread carefully," Optimus said, "To lose anymore Autobots would be crippling as we could very well be the only ones left on Earth."

Lennox could tell that for all the celebration, Optimus made a very valid point: there were only four Autobots left on Earth and they were all here with Lennox right now. To lose another would simply make the following battle even more difficult. The odds were still against them but at least it looked like they might pull through.

"Let's go to the quarry," Sideswipe said, breaking the silence that had fallen upon the group, "I'm ready to kick some Decepticon ass. What about you guys?"

* * *

Sam Witwicky found himself once again in the rather distressing company of Colonel Francis Weller, as well as the Colonel's somewhat unstable friend, Major Sarah Taylor. The thing with the Major this time around was the fact that somehow she had been exposed to what had transformed Sam into the Decepticon-looking creature he was now. Though the transformation was far less articulate and viral for the major than it had been for Sam, there were still some things that made her very dangerous with the most obvious being her ability to manipulate electricity. She was mostly human in appearance save for the metallic blotches forming on right arm and parts of her neck and face as well as the eerie blue glow that had developed in her right eye.

They were in one of the buildings at the base of the quarry, near where the alien monolithic structure had protruded from the ground. Sam was seated in a chair, one that was struggling under his inhuman weight. He dared not make a move for he would be hit by another of Sarah Taylor's rather painful energy attacks. Still, the option of escape was very much a valid one albeit difficult and not without its fair share of risks.

Outside, the sounds of battle were very audible. As far as Sam could tell, several Decepticons soldiers, undoubtedly ones he had helped to birth on board the Decepticon ship on the moon, had broken into the grounds of the quarry and had engaged Sector Eight forces in combat. Judging from what he could hear and the annoyed look on Weller's face it seemed that the Sector Eight soldiers could not hold their ground against the Decepticon onslaught.

Weller paced the room, the Spear of Destiny in one hand. He had managed to recover it from where it had become buried during the earthquake earlier and now it was clear that he was torn between seeing this thing through or simply packing up and leaving with the Spear. Sam would prefer the latter option since it did not involve releasing Unicron out of his prison. It struck him that Weller did not know about Unicron and what exactly the alien monolith outside did. Rather, it seemed that Weller believed that it unlocked some sort of treasure trove of alien technology. That was very far off of the truth.

Weller stopped and looked towards Sam, holding up the Spear. The interior of the room was rather untidy, littered with papers and overturned furniture. Whoever had previously resided in it had left in a hurry.

"It seems we have two options, Sam," Weller said, stepping towards him despite the obvious risk that put him in. Sam could reach out and snap the man's neck yet he knew that Taylor would hit him with a painful energy attack the moment he put a foot out of line.

"And…uh…what are those options?" Sam asked, deciding to play along. He knew what role he was to play in things to come…at least, he thought he did. Either that or he really was going insane.

"We leave and take the Spear with us, abandoning this great crusade and preventing the Decepticons from getting their hands on the Spear," Weller replied, "If you ask me, it is a very sensible idea. Trouble is, it would be a cop out let alone the fact that we're surrounded by Decepticons. Trying to escape would be suicidal."

"Sounds great," Sam said sarcastically. Weller ignored him and continued talking, obviously enjoying the sound of his own voice.

"The other option is we could go outside and activate that alien device…monolith…whatever it is," Weller continued, "And we could unlock the secrets of the ruins and start a new era of human supremacy. That plan has its drawbacks as well, since the Decepticons will undoubtedly attack us and try to gain what's within the ruins for themselves…"

"Are you aware of just what the actual purpose of those ruins is?" Sam asked.

"What are you saying? Are you going to bullshit me, Sam?" Weller shook his head. "It's obvious you want to escape, to return to your normal life. Just look at yourself in a mirror, Sam, and you'll see why this is impossible…"

"Those ruins, when activated, will open a portal," Sam added. He had decided that it was worth a shot, to try and make Weller see the error of his ways. He doubted it would work, though. Weller was right about Sam wanting to return to a normal life, although Sam was beginning to accept the fact that he would never be able to. His sheer physical characteristics would ensure this would be impossible.

"That portal will let a planet devouring evil bastard out of an inter-dimensional prison and into our reality," Sam said, "I don't think that's what you want…"

"You're full of it, Sam," Weller replied, shaking his head in an almost pitying fashion. Sam felt a spark of rage at the Colonel's reaction, the way he was just so condescending…It annoyed him. Sam had the urge to lunge forwards and snap the man's neck. He would have done it if it were not for the presence of Major Taylor who sat nearby and watched the exchange take place with a careful gaze.

"Believe what you want," Sam said, "But I know that I'm telling the truth. There are also a few other things I know that you don't…"

"Like what?"

"Like how Unicron's been manipulating all of us to fall into line with his scheme and allow him access to our reality," Sam replied, "Or like how Primus has sent forth an angel to help us…"

"You're crazy," Weller interrupted, silencing Sam with a piercing gaze.

Sam had the feeling that he was crazy. Indeed, all of this talk about alien Gods and Demons, and angels…It was his darker self who had said all of this, who had convinced him of the role he would play in the future. He would build a New Cybertron and would be the saviour of the Cybertronian race. It was very likely that Sam was simply going insane, creating these delusions in order to add more purpose to his life while deep down he knew just how much things had changed. He was no longer human, he would never be accepted as a human and the trauma his body and mind had gone through during the transformation had completely scrambled his mind. Hallucinations, delusions…These were all just a result of it. He was no saviour, Deadeye was no angel from Primus…Or was he? Who knew? Sam was confused to say the very least, unsure on whether he was simply nuts or was under the influence of a higher power.

"I'm crazy?" Sam laughed, shaking his head. Weller's gaze seemed to narrow into a much harsher stare as a result. "Take a look at yourself, Colonel: you're way past insane. You seem to think you're on a mission from God to make humans the supreme race of the galaxy. In actual fact, you're nuts."

"I'm not crazy," Weller spat. Sam could tell that he was getting under the Colonel's skin.

Sam shook his head. This whole situation was not only confusing but also very desperate. He needed a way out, he needed to escape…but how?

"I'll tell you something, Sam," Weller said, seething with anger, "You can forget all I said about having an important position once I unlock the secrets of the ruins. Instead, you're going to become a lab rat. You're going to be experimented on, dissected…We're going to find out what makes you tick. We're…"

There was a sudden and rather loud _slam!_ The door at the end of the room had flung open and James Turner stood there, holding an assault rifle. Major Taylor was up in an instant, firing an arc of lightning from her right arm. James had been about to deliver a clever one-liner (such as "Knock, knock" or "This party's over") when the lightning came his way. He dived behind a table as it tore through the room, leaving scorch marks on the walls.

Sam seized his chance, rising out of his chair and lunging for the Colonel. Major Taylor turned around but Jones Marshall was through the door at that instant, getting Taylor's attention. She was about to let fly with another arc of lightning when Jones pulled the trigger on his shotgun on impulse. The pellets slammed into Taylor's front, spraying blood and making the Major give a pained expression. She still remained standing, about to let fly with another energy based attack when James stood up from behind cover, opening fire with his assault rifle. Bullets pounded into Sarah Taylor, making her stumble and convulse before she finally hit the back wall and slumped against it, riddled with bleeding holes.

Sam was upon Weller at that moment, delivering a powerful right hook that sent blood spurting out of Weller's mouth as well as several of the man's teeth. Again, Sam punched, cracking the man's skull open with his superior Cybertronian strength. And again, he punched, letting his anger control as actions as he continued to pound Weller's head into the floor. He soon became lost in his actions, barely aware of the fact that Weller's head was nothing but a bloody pulp by the end of it. Blood had splattered onto Sam's face and was all over his arms.

James rushed over and pulled Sam away from the dead Colonel. This was enough to shake Sam out of his anger and make him realize that he had just murdered the Colonel. The man had deserved it for all Sam cared, although the mostly headless corpse of Colonel Weller was somewhat sickening to lay eyes upon.

"Sam, I can't believe it," James said, "You've completely changed…in more ways than one."

Sam took himself out of James' grip and bent down, prying the Spear of Destiny from Weller's cold, dead fingers. Jones stepped over and looked down at the mess, shaking his head. He looked over at where Sarah Taylor lay dead and bloodied.

"What was with the lightning throwing bitch?" He asked.

Sam shrugged in response. He looked down at Weller's corpse again and felt some satisfaction. To see the bastard dead, slain by Sam's hand…It had a strange but good feeling to go with it.

"Damn Sam, I didn't think you would do that to the Colonel," James said, "That's…harsh."

"Where's Simmons?" Sam asked, deciding to change the subject. Weller was dead now and there was no reason to dwell anymore on the matter. At least that was one bad guy down.

"He and General Morshower are up at the entrance since the Venezuelan military just arrived," James explained, "They're coordinating some sort of large scale attack. The Decepticons are busy fighting with Sector Eight soldiers outside…I decided to look for you and Jones wanted to tag along…"

Jones had stepped over to the open doorway, looking outside. He seemed to frown at what he saw before stepping away from the doorway and turning back to look at James and Sam.

"Uh, guys…"

"What is it?" James asked.

"There are about twenty Sector Eight guys outside and they're all headed here…"

Sam tucked away the Spear of Destiny, putting it to a magnetic plate at one hip. Stepping towards the doorway, he peered outside and saw the men Jones was referring to. There were a few groups of Sector Eight soldiers spreading out around the building, going for cover behind the digging vehicles parked outside or setting up on the mounds of stones and dirt near the building. They knew that there was something not quite right with what was going on inside the building, so much so that one officer had taken out a megaphone. He put it to his mouth before announcing: _"Sam Witwicky, we know you are in there. Come out unarmed and no one will get hurt!"_

Sam looked back at James and Jones. There was no way they would be able to escape without getting shot up, so Sam decided to do what he felt was right: he would go outside and hold off these guys long enough for James and Jones to escape.

"You two wait here," Sam said, starting outside, "Make a run for it when I give the signal."

"Are you nuts?" Jones asked, incredulous, "They'll kill you!"

"They want me alive. They want the Spear as well. I will go outside and stall them so you two can get away."

"Sam, I can't let you do this…" James began, but Sam cut him off.

"It was good to see you again, James," Sam said, "But I have to do this. You two start making a run for it as soon as I start shooting. Is that clear?"

"Sam, I came out here to rescue you," James said, sounding annoyed, "I'm not going to let you throw your life away like this…"

"My life's practically over," Sam replied, "I don't want to argue with you anymore, James. If you and Jones can get out of here alive then I'll know I've done some good today."

With James silenced, Sam stepped outside into the cool night air. He could see far more than twenty Sector Eight soldiers: In fact, it seemed the entire contingent in the quarry had come along, save for the ones busy fighting off the Decepticons in other parts of the quarry. Raising his arms in a sign of surrender, Sam stepped forwards right into the line of fire. His heads-up display highlighted some of the more dangerous targets, including the few men further away lying prone and manning anti-tank rifles.

The officer with the megaphone put the object away and stepped forwards, slowly. All of the other men had their weapons trained on Sam.

"We're bugging out, Sam," the officer said, "I know Weller's dead since his transponder signal went out. I'm in charge now."

"What are you going to do with me?" Sam asked.

"Take you back Stateside and be detained in a facility until we can work out what to do with you," the officer replied. The insignia on his uniform indicated he was a Captain. This Captain was noticeably more reasonable than Weller ever was.

"I'm not going to get locked up again," Sam said. It only took a split second for his right arm to transform into its cannon form. He knew the risks but they seemed trivial compared to the bigger picture. He had a task to complete and that meant that Sector Eight would have to be completely destroyed.

The Captain saw the arm cannon and froze. Sam made eye contact with him and shrugged.

"Sorry, Captain," Sam said, raising the cannon and firing. As blood splattered all over his front, Sam dived to one side, somersaulting behind one of the digging machines as all of the other soldiers began to open fire.

Bullets pounded the ground and his cover from all directions. Sam turned around and blasted the pair of Sector Eight soldiers behind him, sending their scorched and bloodied bodies falling against a pile of rocks. He looked to the building, watching as James and Jones started to make a run for it. Some of the soldiers fired in their direction but Sam singled these ones out, leaning around cover and blasting them with relative ease.

Three men came running into view further away as they sought to flak Sam's position. They opened fire, with rifle rounds hitting Sam and pinging off of his metal form. The force of the shots did make him stumble slightly but he was quick to aim and quick to fire, blasting each men down. He stepped from cover as the Sector Eight soldiers began to manoeuvre around him, trying to surround him. Sam did his best to stand up under the rifle fire that was hammering him, afraid that a few bullets might find soft spots in his form. There were two men behind the dump truck up ahead: Sam blasted both, running forwards as he sought a better position.

However, he made himself open to attack from one particular soldier on a rocky ledge some distance away. This man lay prone with an anti-tank rifle before him. Using the telescopic sight, he lined up a shot and fired. The gunshot itself was practically deafening but the high-powered round that was fired hit Sam in the lower back. Sam screamed in pain as it tore straight through him, energon fluid spraying out. He fell onto all forwards, his left hand going to the hole that went through him in an effort to hold his insides in. The pain was incredible and a subtle feeling of weakness began to creep through him as the more energon he lost the weaker he began to feel.

Slowly rising to his feet, Sam blasted away the two Sector Eight soldiers who had begun to walk his way, rifles firing. The normal bullets seemed to hurt more now and each impact caused him to stumble. The anti-tank rifle fired again, blasting a hole through Sam's upper chest. He shouted and fell backwards, barely able to concentrate through the haze of pain that had overcome him.

Sitting up, Sam's heads-up display highlighted the soldier manning the anti-tank rifle. Raising his arm cannon, Sam fired as the Sector Eight soldier began to get up in an effort to find a better position. The energy blast blew the soldier's head clean away, sending his body tumbling off of the rock ledge and to a sickening sounding landing below. Bleeding energon all down his front, Sam rose to his feet, swearing under his breath as he started for cover.

Another Sector Eight soldier emerged from behind a pile of rocks up ahead. Sam went to fire but the soldier was faster on the trigger, delivering a shot from some sort of high powered sniper rifle that tore into Sam's right arm. The Cybertronian ex-human stumbled, shouting in pain and discovering that his right arm cannon had been rendered useless. It had reverted back to its normal form, one that seemed barely functioning. Sam switched his left arm to its sword mode and started running straight for the Sector Eight soldier.

The soldier saw Sam coming and stood his ground, pulling the bolt back on his sniper rifle and ejecting the spent bullet casing. He went to fire again, this time the round collided with Sam's stomach, already compounding the hole that had been blow through there. Sam screamed and stumbled again, giving the Sector Eight soldier a chance to eject the latest spent bullet casing from his sniper rifle. Sam got up and this time, with a burst of speed and of sheer rage, lunged for the sniper rifle wielding soldier and swept his blade across the man's stomach. The soldier went down as his guts promptly fell out, his rifle clattering to the ground. Sam reverted his left arm back to its normal form, picking up the sniper rifle and shifting his attention to the two Sector Eight soldiers to his left.

They had begun to open fire with their assault rifles, bullets pinging off of the rocks nearby. Sam took up the sniper rifle and lined up a shot, firing and blasting a chunk out of the head of one of the soldiers. The other one went back into cover as Sam ejected the spent casing, raising the rifle again. The soldier leaned around the digging machine up ahead but was taken down as Sam fired again, this time the bullet hit the man in the chest and send him into the dirt. Sam ejected the spent casing and continued forwards, deciding that his best option was to get out of the quarry.

As Sam started running, two more Sector Eight soldiers emerged from cover up ahead. Both opened fire with their assault rifles. Sam blasted one with the sniper rifle, taking him down. The other saw his buddy fall and started pacing ahead, firing his rifle and sending round after round into Sam's metal form. Sam went to fire on this soldier but found that his sniper rifle's magazine was empty. Tossing the rifle aside, Sam brought out his sword again and began to run.

The soldier stood his ground and continued to fire, his M249 light machine gun delivering a withering hail of bullets that caused Sam to stumble. Some of the rounds found his already damaged parts, causing yet more hurt. Sam pressed on through until the soldier ran clean out of bullets and began to reload frantically. Sam was on him in seconds, impaling him on his sword and kicking him off of the now bloodied blade.

Sam, exhausted and bloodied, stumbled towards a shed up ahead. He kicked down the door and fell into a heap within, no longer in any state to move. His heads-up display did detect Decepticons nearby but there seemed to be four distant Autobot life energy signatures. For all the relief he felt for detecting these, he was barely in a state to go out and regroup. Instead, he lay on the floor and tried his best to hold on to whatever life he had left.


	39. Two Steps Forward, One Step Back

**Two Steps Forward, One Step Back  
**December 17th, 2010  
A quarry in Venezuela

The quarry entrance was mostly devastated and littered with the bodies of Sector Eight soldiers. Optimus, Ratchet, Sideswipe and Deadeye arrived here in their robot modes without resistance. It was clear that the majority of the battle was taking place within the quarry and had since moved even further in, leaving bodies and blast craters in its wake. Optimus stood for a moment at the main gate which had been blasted off its hinges by a previous intruder. His sensors detected the unmistakable energy signature of Centurion, who was somewhere within the quarry. Megatron was much closer by. Wary, Optimus readied one of his cannons in preparation for the inevitable battle.

Lennox, Epps and Winters stopped nearby, the three of them armed with assault rifles. They carefully checked the wrecked guardhouse before Lennox's gaze went to Optimus. He was frowning, noticeably concerned about something. Epps was on a radio, trying to get in touch with General Carmona.

"Optimus," Lennox said, getting the Prime's attention, "I'll stay here with Epps and Winters. You take the Autobots into the quarry, but keep in touch. We'll try and arrange transport for Sam and the Spear, so make sure to call us when you find him."

"And if we find Colonel Weller?" Deadeye asked, although Optimus could tell the younger Autobot's intention was clear.

"Take him alive, if possible," Lennox replied sourly, "But since he's caused so much trouble I don't think his death will piss off many people."

"We'll take him alive," Optimus said, shooting Deadeye a stern glance. Deadeye simply shrugged, twirling both his side-arms around in his hands like a Wild West gunslinger.

Optimus started into the quarry, with Deadeye, Ratchet and Sideswipe following closely behind. Above, Venezuelan military jets buzzed around, some engaging noticeably Decepticon jets in combat. Tracer fire zipped across the night sky and flashes of orange flame signified the destruction of a jet, briefly casting an eerie orange glow upon the quarry. Optimus glanced at his fellow Autobots, noticing that Ratchet seemed uncharacteristically distant. Deadeye was as eager and as confident as he most often was while Sideswipe had both of his swords in ready positions, able to engage in close combat at a moment's notice.

"It's hard to believe all that's happened," Ratchet said suddenly, breaking the silence that had fallen upon the group.

"What do you mean?" Optimus asked, stopping briefly. He was still alert though, scanning his surroundings as he shifted his gaze to Ratchet. The others stopped as well, weapons at the ready.

"We've lost so many," Ratchet said, his tone sullen, "And now here we are, trying to stop a madman from unleashing Unicron. It feels as if all of this has played out over years, while in reality it's only been mere days."

"When so much happens in such a short time," Optimus replied, "It feels as if it went on far longer. I understand what you mean, though. We've lost nearly all of the Autobots and things still aren't over…."

There was the sound of jet thrusters and Optimus' attention shifted to the familiar looking Decepticon setting down up ahead. Swivelling his cannon in its direction, Optimus quickly took in the situation. Megatron had arrived, looking as malevolent as always and he was accompanied by several Decepticon jets, all of whom were transforming into their robot modes and touching down around the group. Deadeye had started taking in the situation, weapons at the ready while Ratchet had brought out his own chain-gun, casting weary gazes at the Decepticons around them.

"Megatron," Optimus said, his tone level as he looked towards his nemesis. Megatron regarded the Prime in a mostly condescending manner.

"Why do you bother, Prime?" Megatron asked, "You are completely outnumbered and outgunned. Maybe you should just give up…maybe then I'll be merciful."

Optimus knew that Megatron would simply kill him and the rest of the Autobots if they surrendered. It seemed that giving up was not at all an option and besides, Optimus had not even considered it. They had a job to do and Megatron and his minions were simply obstacles in the way of it…obstacles that would have to be removed.

"Why do _you_ bother, Megatron?" Optimus asked, returning the question, "Why do you work with Centurion? Do you actually trust him? He'll kill you as soon as he gets his own way…"

"That is why I will be killing him first," Megatron replied, taking a few steps forward, "As soon as I'm done with you and your friends, I'll remove Centurion and rule this planet using the powers that the Witwicky hybrid contains…"

Deadeye had both his weapons pointed at Megatron, his optics watching the Decepticon carefully. Megatron's gaze went to the youngster briefly before returning his attention to Optimus.

"Maybe I'll kill your son first," Megatron spat, "I'll make you watch as I tear him limb from limb…"

Optimus had been about to reply when several shots sounded out as Deadeye opened fire, each shot hitting Megatron straight on. One of them hit him in the right forearm, blasting away his right arm from the elbow and making Megatron emit a roar of rage.

The other Decepticons opened fire. There were about six of them, firing on the group from all directions. Optimus hit the ground rolling, somersaulting up and pulling out his other weapon. He brought up both as he came out of the somersault, blasting away at the Decepticon dead ahead of him while Megatron dived out of the way. The Decepticon ahead went down in a hail of plasma fire, with smoking holes being blasted into it.

Megatron was on Optimus in seconds, his one good arm having changed into its sword form. Optimus did his best to deflect the blows by pulling out both of his own blades, countering each of Megatron's enraged strikes only for the Decepticon to return the favour in a much more frenzied fashion. Deadeye, Ratchet and Sideswipe had opened fire on the other Decepticons, with Ratchet taking several rounds in the side as he swivelled where he stood and launched a few grenades at one of the Decepticons. They exploded on contact, blasting away the Decepticon and leaving nothing but a mangled pair of legs bleeding energon fluid.

Deadeye opened fire at a pair of the other Decepticons but both closed in too quickly for ranged weapons fire to be useful. Taking out his blade, Deadeye proceeded to take on the two Decepticons at once, obviously outmatched since he was only trained in the basics of close combat. Sideswipe seemed to have little trouble cleaving through his first Decepticon opponent, sending both halves of this Decepticon flying as he threw them aside and caught the attention of one of Deadeye's attackers.

"Sideswipe!" Optimus called, gaining a brief reprieve in the battle as he punched Megatron off of him and sent him into the ground a short distance away.

Sideswipe looked his way, kicking aside an incoming Decepticon with barely a second glance.

"Move ahead! Find Sam!" Optimus ordered. Sideswipe seemed reluctant to leave the fight. "Do it now, damn it! Go!" With a nod, Sideswipe had started to move quickly along the quarry road.

About three more Decepticon soldiers appeared on a ridge nearby, afraid to open fire and hit their own. Instead, they started down towards the brawl with their swords drawn. Deadeye managed to impale the Decepticon he was fighting on his blade before pulling it free and kicking the dying foe aside just in time to face the new arrivals. Ratchet fired a few grenades in their direction, blasting one away before the other two were too close for such weaponry to be used safely.

Optimus delivered a sharp right hook into Megatron's face while the Decepticon was still down, trying to keep him down and gain an advantage. Even with one fully functioning arm Megatron was a tough adversary, using the sword on this arm to impale Optimus' stomach area. The pain was intense but Optimus persevered, bringing his own blade down and slicing the blade off of the Decepticon's one good arm. Within a split second Megatron had adjusted his attacks, delivering a painful and powerful punch across Optimus' face that sent the Prime reeling into the dirt.

Deadeye was set upon by another Decepticon, with the Decepticon slicing its blade across his chest and carving a nasty energon-bleeding gash there. Deadeye shouted in pain, delivering a powerful left hook into the Decepticon's face that sent it stumbling backwards. Optimus could barely keep track of his son's performance in the battle since Megatron was back upon him, trying to punch him and kick him in a frenzied series of blows. Optimus did his best to get back on his feet and deflect them all but stumbled nonetheless, letting a few of the painful strikes through that sent his already exhausted form falling into the dirt again. He was tired, having had no time at all to recharge in the last few days.

"Give in, Prime," Megatron spat, facing Optimus as the Prime rose back onto his feet, "I can sense that you are tired. Let me end your torment…"

Optimus did not give Megatron the satisfaction of a response. Instead, he lunged for him, emitting a loud battle-cry as he tackled Megatron to the ground once again. He punched him once, twice, three times across the face…each blow sent a spray of energon flying and a pained grunt from Megatron.

Still, Megatron recovered and grabbed Optimus' punch-delivering hand in a powerful grip, tightening his hold so much so that it became painful. Optimus used his free hand to punch Megatron again, causing the Decepticon's hold to loosen and giving Optimus an opportunity to stand up and back away, taking in his opponent. They were both tired and wounded, but this fight was not quite over.

* * *

Sideswipe ploughed through the quarry, having reverted to vehicle mode for greater speed. Around him, Sector Eight soldiers were hurriedly packing up and fleeing as the Decepticon onslaught continued. There were numerous Decepticons, most of the jet type, flying around and engaging the Venezuelan air force jets or having landed and going around in their robot forms, blasting away buildings and massacring the Sector Eight soldiers. It seemed that whatever organization Sector Eight had once had was gone, giving way to complete and utter chaos. Most of the soldiers barely managed the silver sports car that was Sideswipe a second glance as they were too concerned with their own safety.

Sideswipe knew what had to be done, even though he had been completely against leaving Optimus and the others behind. He was sure they could handle themselves, but too many Autobots had been lost already. They could not afford to lose anymore. Still, he had been the fastest of the group: Optimus had chosen him since he was best suited to the task of finding Sam and taking him to safety.

According to what Sideswipe had heard, Sam was some sort of hybrid and as such emitted a unique energy signature. He could already detect it, although it was not as powerful a signature as he was expecting. It was deeper into the quarry, towards the lower area where an alien monolithic structure had since punched its way out of the ground. There were plenty of Decepticons roaming around here, some getting hammered by the Venezuelan jets that zoomed overhead and would occasionally zoom in for a strafing run.

Emerging from his vehicle mode, Sideswipe readied both of his blades and moved ahead, going down deeper into the quarry as he followed Sam's energy signature. There was no doubt in his mind that the Decepticons were doing the same as there were about three of them closing in on Sam's apparent position, which was amongst a few rundown looking buildings. Sideswipe knew he needed to get to Sam before they did and so sped up appropriately, readying himself for the inevitable fight.

He raced into the area just near the set of old buildings, one that was taken up by mounds of rocks and dirt and digging machines. Several dead Sector Eight soldiers were here, as if there had been some sort of large scale fire-fight here earlier. The three Decepticon soldiers closing in on Sam's position did not seem to notice him at first so Sideswipe decided to get there attention.

"Hey, assholes!" Sideswipe shouted. The three Decepticons turned around, all three of them with their weapons drawn. Sideswipe quelled whatever fears he had of the coming fight and zoomed forwards, coming within striking distance of the first Decepticon.

It had little chance to react as Sideswipe slashed his blades across its frame, sending a set of deep gashes into its front. The Decepticon stumbled and tried to deliver a retaliatory punch but Sideswipe was faster, using one blade to effectively chop the Decepticon's right arm off. The Decepticon shouted in pain and stumbled again, rendering itself more vulnerable to further attack as Sideswipe plunged one of his blades into its chest and pulled it up, splitting its head and neck in half. Sideswipe removed his blade and kicked the dead Decepticon aside, shifting his attention to the two others ahead of him.

Both opened fire with their chain-guns, with high-powered rounds hammering into Sideswipe's front and stinging painfully. Even so, Sideswipe pressed forwards and with one fluid sweep brought a blade across the form of the Decepticon on the left, severing its head from the rest of its body. Sideswipe knocked the headless body aside while the actual head hit the ground nearby and rolled a short distance before coming to a halt.

The third and last Decepticon for this particular fight had brought out a jagged metal blade, lunging for Sideswipe. The Autobot deflected the blade and kicked elbowed the Decepticon in the stomach area, sending it stumbling. However, it quickly recovered as Sideswipe stepped forwards. The Decepticon delivered a fast slashing blow that sent a bolt of pain through Sideswipe, leaving a nasty gash across his front.

Annoyed, Sideswipe stuck both his blades into the Decepticon's chest area and pushed them to either side, severing the top half of the Decepticon's torso from the lower half. With a final groan the Decepticon's head and shoulders fell to the ground first, followed by the rest of it.

With a satisfied look as he watched the last Decepticon fall, Sideswipe put away his blades and started for where Sam was hiding.

* * *

There was simply too much pain, at his chest and at his right arm. Sam's on board arm cannon was effectively useless now, with a bleeding hole at his forearm. In fact, energon fluid was bleeding all down his front. It was not a terribly pretty sight and it hurt like hell.

Outside, the sounds of battle continued, with some fights sounding a lot closer than others. Stuck at a magnetic plate at one of Sam's hips was the Spear of Destiny. Sam intended to stay here and wait the battle out, although he had the feeling that someone would come by before then. He was not mistaken in this assumption, although he was surprised at who actually came by.

Sideswipe practically lifted the roof off of the small shed Sam had been hiding in, peering inside. This particular Autobot was looking a little worse for wear, battle-scarred and dirty. Even so, his optics shone a bright blue and the expression on his metallic face carried a slight grin when he saw Sam.

"Sam Witwicky, you probably have no idea how much trouble I had to go through to find you," Sideswipe said.

"What can I say? I'm a shit magnet." Sam unsteadily rose to his feet, managing an uncertain grin in return. He stepped out of the shed, taking a look around the quarry. Up above jets were firing on each other, buzzing around and doing all manner of aerobatic manoeuvres in some sort of classic dogfight.

"I'm here to take you to safety," Sideswipe said, "Hang on…" He paused, as if listening to something. "Lennox is chiming in…" He switched his voice to that of what the Major was saying through his communications systems.

"_This is Major Lennox: Autobots, if you can hear me, there is a Venezuelan helicopter on its way to pick up Sam and the Spear. When you find him, take him to the administrative building towards the top of the quarry. Be sure to signal the helicopter when you're up there with whatever means you can…"_

"Come on Sam," Sideswipe said, his voice back to its normal state after cutting off the signal from the Major, "I've got to get you to that evacuation point." Within seconds he had folded himself back into his vehicle mode, the driver's side door open. Sam stepped inside without hesitation, closing the door behind him as Sideswipe started his engines.

"_Sideswipe, this is Optimus. Have you found Sam?"_ Optimus' voice filtered through the speakers within the vehicle. Sideswipe was quick to reply.

"Yes. I'm taking him to the assigned evacuation point…"

"_Deadeye has gone on ahead to meet up with you. Ratchet and I are still engaging Megatron and several other Decepticons. Make sure that neither Sam nor the Spear fall into enemy hands."_

"Understood, Optimus."

Sam sat back in the seat as Sideswipe began to drive, literally flooring the accelerator and speeding along the dirt roads of the quarry. The evacuation point in question was outside a large set of offices towards the top section of the quarry, by a sheer drop that lead straight back down to the bottom-most level of the quarry. Sideswipe pulled to a halt here and Sam rushed out. Sideswipe was quick to transform back into his robot mode, readying his weapons as Sam started to look around for some way of signalling the helicopter.

Through the assorted junk outside of the set of offices, there was a box of flares along with explosive charges that had obviously been used in the quarry. Up high was the helicopter, a large Venezuelan troop transport that was doing circles around the perimeter of the quarry as it awaited a signal. Sam took up one of the flares and ignited it, holding it up high in one hand while Sideswipe kept watch. As the orange smoke began to billow forth, Sam felt an odd feeling of déjà vu. Either that or it was the feeling that something was about to go horribly wrong.

The Venezuelan transport helicopter began to fly towards him, descending by the cliff-face with its lights off in order to keep a low profile. The side doors opened and a man in a military uniform was there, gesturing towards Sam to get over. Sam ran towards him and the soldier pointed at the Spear stuck to Sam's hip.

"Spear is first priority," the soldier said. Without hesitation Sam pulled the Spear free from the magnetic plate at his hip and prepared to hand it over…

"Sam, get down!" Sideswipe shouted, getting the ex-human's attention. Sam turned around, just in time to watch as Centurion, who had appeared on a distant ridge, opened fire with an energy cannon. The first few shots caught Sideswipe in the front, blowing holes into him and sending him flying backwards a short distance where he landed in a heap amongst the dirt. The helicopter pilot obviously saw what was coming next and pulled away from the landing zone, leaving Sam to dive to the ground still clutching the Spear of Destiny.

The next few shots Centurion fired hit the helicopter, making it erupt into a great ball of flame that rained down smoking chunks of debris all around. The helicopter tail, complete with spinning rotor blade, went flying over Sam's prone form. The rotor blade clipped Sam in the left shoulder, sending a sharp pain as it penetrated the metal "flesh" there. The tail itself landed in a clanking heap nearby, severed from the body of the helicopter. That helicopter was now raining down all over the quarry.

Sideswipe got back on his feet, somewhat groggily. Centurion jumped from upon the ridge and landed a short distance from the wounded Autobot, raising his cannon as he did so and firing a few more times. Each shot made Sideswipe stumble further towards the cliff edge until the Autobot was mere metres from falling.

Sam went to get up but a chunk of helicopter clipped him in the side of the head, sending him into a brief daze as he stumbled and fell off of the cliff. With his Cybertronian strength he dug the fingers of his left hand into the dirt, finding a grip on a rock as he dangled precariously off of the edge. That feeling of déjà vu overtook him again, as did his fear of heights. He looked down and saw perhaps a hundred metre drop back to the base of the quarry.

"Oh shit, oh shit, oh shit…" He was muttering to himself now, unable to quite believe his bad luck. The Spear was still clutched in his right hand and with some effort he clipped it back upon the magnetic plate at his hip, freeing his right hand so he could use it to find further purchase on the cliff-face.

Sideswipe went to lunge at Centurion. The Decepticon was usually the type who was up for a close sword fight but felt that would simply delay him further, especially against a well trained opponent like Sideswipe. Instead, Centurion just blasted him with his energy cannon again. This time the shot hit Sideswipe squarely in the face, blowing a hole clean through his head and sending his body stumbling off of the cliff. Sam watched with optics wide as Sideswipe's corpse plummeted and hit the lowest level of the quarry with a loud _thump!_ It smashed through a few buildings and remained motionless, with Sideswipe's face having been completely blown away.

Centurion turned his attention to Sam, looking around for the hybrid.

"Sam, boy, where are you?" Centurion asked in his usual booming voice, "I shall not harm you, hybrid. No…I merely want to use your powers and those of the Spear. When Unicron returns, he shall reward you for your cooperation…"

Sam could feel his grip loosening. However, his attention was diverted to the familiar figure who had come into view a short distance away. Deadeye had stepped into the area, facing Centurion directly, both weapons pointed at his direction.

"Centurion," Deadeye said, getting the Decepticon's attention.

"Deadeye, we meet again," Centurion said. He regarded the young Autobot with some disdain.

Sam, meanwhile, was too busy with his own concerns to really pay attention to the exchange between friend and foe. Rather, his grip was really starting to loosen, with the rock he had found purchase on slowly becoming loose from the dirt of the cliff. Frantically Sam scrambled for more grip but found that there was barely any solid handholds anywhere, with chunks of dirt breaking away in his right hand while his left held onto the ever loosening rock.

"This will end today, Centurion," Deadeye said, stepping forwards. Centurion stepped forwards as well, ready for the inevitable fight.

"You are nothing, Deadeye," Centurion said, "But I can make you something. Join my crusade and there will be great rewards in it for you…power beyond your wildest dreams…"

"I'm not interested in your bullshit rewards," Deadeye replied, "I'm just interested in killing you. You've made this personal by killing Bumblebee, Ironhide, Depthcharge and now Sideswipe…"

"Don't you see the potential within you?" Centurion asked, "I do. You are better than your father, far better. If you were to join me, I would let you have whatever you wanted…I would not hold you back, as the Prime has done. I would let you tap into your true potential…"

Deadeye did not reply. Instead, he lunged for Centurion, tacking the burly Decepticon to the ground and rolling him onto his back. Centurion's shield flared and burned upon Deadeye but the young Autobot ignored the pain, pushing one hand to the device that was stuck at Centurion's back, the one that gave him his powers…Deadeye had removed it before and he would do it again, pulling it as Centurion's shield burned his hands. With all of his strength Deadeye pulled the device free, sending a powerful shockwave forth that sent Deadeye flying backwards.

Sam lost his grip at that moment, presumably because of the shockwave. With the sudden sensation of freefall, Sam began to scream. The fall itself did not last very long as Sam hit the roof of a building below, sending pain through him as the wood gave way and dropped him into the room beneath. The pain was excruciating, reverberating through his whole form as he came to a halt on the floor before he crashed through the floorboards and hit the dirt beneath. Any ordinary human would have died but Sam was not human anymore, so he survived the fall with plenty of scuffs and scrapes. His dazedness lasted for a moment or two, until he became aware of a stinging pain at his left leg.

Regaining his composure, Sam looked at his left leg and felt a bolt of shock as his gaze went upon the injury there: a jagged and rusted metal pole had stuck itself straight through the lower part of his left leg. Screaming in pain, Sam pulled the pole free and tossed it aside, now bleeding blue-white energon out of the new injury. Rolling over, he crawled out of the hole and slumped onto the floor, trying to stand up but unable to because of the excruciating hole that had been busted through his left leg. Steadying himself on a nearby table, Sam put most of his weight on his right leg as he tried to ready himself for properly walking again. He knew he needed to get out of here, but how could he when he could barely walk?

Outside, both Deadeye and Centurion came crashing down from above, having tackled each other off of the cliff. Sam stumbled and fell as he tried to step towards the door. He would probably be crying right now but he was Cybertronian, tear ducts were something they lacked. Instead, he remained on the floor and started to shake his head, wondering why this all had to happen to him.


	40. An Angel With Guns

**An Angel With Guns  
**December 17th, 2010  
A quarry in Venezuela

As the battle wore on within the quarry, Optimus Prime found himself increasingly exhausted, spent of most of his energy yet faced with foes who were noticeably more energetic than he was at the moment. He was tired, both mentally and physically, having witnessed so much death and destruction yet frustrated at the fact that it was far from over. Ratchet was with him, a loyal and long time friend who had always considered himself a pacifist…until fighting was the only option left. At this time, it seemed that fighting had been the only option from the beginning. To battle relentless foes, with more and more always showing up just when things seemed to die down…Optimus was somewhat resigned to this, knowing that there will always be evil in the world and that someone had to stand up to it, lest it be victorious. He would not rest until Unicron was stopped and between him and that ultimate goal were a lot of well-equipped and well-trained opponents.

Beaten and bloodied, with dents and scorch marks marring his once pristine form, Optimus was noticeably slowed in his movements, his exhaustion beginning to impair his performance in the battle somewhat. Around him, the quarry was a ruin, pock-marked with smoking craters, dead Decepticons, dead humans and several sets of destroyed buildings. Above, the night sky was mostly obscured by dark clouds that had begun to gather, as if in anticipation of the arrival of a great evil. Human military jets zoomed overhead, some engaged in dogfights with airborne Decepticons. Other Decepticons were scattered throughout the quarry, engaging the human military forces that had begun to move within the grounds of the quarry. Some were firing on Optimus from nearby, merely distracting the weary Prime as he deflected another one of Megatron's powerful sword blows with his own blade, parrying the blow and knocking Megatron a few steps back.

Somewhere within the quarry was Sam Witwicky and the Spear of Destiny. Both were required to gain access to the ancient alien ruins that powered the immense inter-dimensional rift that had long ago sealed Unicron in an outer-dimensional prison. And both were near falling into the grasp of the very Decepticon who aimed to release Unicron. Sideswipe and Deadeye were further into the quarry and far out of sight, their current activities unknown. The fact that Sideswipe's life energy signature had disappeared from Optimus' scanners was a definite bad sign.

Ratchet was some distance behind Optimus, firing his main rapid fire cannon at a few of the incoming Decepticon soldiers, most of which were interested in getting rid of the Prime. Megatron was snarling and scowling as was to be expected from a Decepticon like him, seeming to enjoy beating on Optimus as he let fly a flurry of powerful sword moves. Optimus could deflect most, taking some hits in the process while delivering some strikes on Megatron. Even so, Megatron seemed confident he could end the Prime here and now and showed no signs of retreating, not when the Decepticons had the upper hand.

Optimus had the blade at his left arm out, his right changed into one of his main guns as he tried to switch between close combat with Megatron and firing at the other Decepticons who were trying to get close. It was certainly difficult, even more so when compounded with the Prime's increasing exhaustion.

"Are you tired, Prime?" Megatron spat, ducking underneath one of Optimus' sword swipes. The Decepticon slashed his blade in return, cutting across Optimus' stomach area. The prime stumbled backwards, another gash oozing energon having appeared on his already beaten and bloodied form.

"Are you weak? Do you wish it all to end?" Megatron stepped forwards in order to keep the distance with Optimus, bringing his sword down again. Optimus deflected the blow, sending Megatron's blade wielding arm far out to the left. The Prime plunged his blade past the Decepticon's defences, cutting a deep gash into Megatron's front. The burly Decepticon roared in both pain and anger, returning the favour by kicking Optimus in the stomach area and sending him reeling backwards.

A pair of Decepticons opened fire from some distance to the Prime's right, sending hot piercing rounds into his form. Optimus levelled the cannon at his right arm and blasted both down, sending them falling backwards and tumbling down the large mounds of dirt and rocks they had been standing upon.

Ratchet had been set upon by a large Decepticon, one that had taken on the alternate form of a large dump truck. It had two rotating razor sharp saw blades in its hands, both of which it had set upon Ratchet who had brought up his own blades just in time to deflect. The pair stood locked in a front-on struggle as each tried to best the other in the duel. Ratchet was noticeably faltering, his tired and aching joints betraying the determined look he carried on his robotic features. Optimus quickly raised his right arm cannon and fired off a few shots, hitting the large Decepticon in the side and causing him to stumble. This was more than enough for Ratchet to seize the opportunity to plunge both of his blades into the Decepticon, tearing them across his foe's neck and decapitating the once intimidating Decepticon. He kicked the deceased Decepticon's head aside once it had fallen from its shoulders.

Optimus turned around, just in time to deflect Megatron's latest flurry of strikes, each hit making him step further and further back while Megatron pressed towards him. Optimus could barely hold his own, being forced towards one of the high steep ridges that ran around the perimeter of the quarry. With his back virtually against the rock face, Optimus could do little but hold his blade up defiantly as Megatron continued striking, a look of malevolent enjoyment appearing across his features.

"You are finished, Prime!" Megatron shouted, the pleasure all too clear in his voice, "Give up and I may make your death quick!"

The last thing on Optimus' mind was surrender. If surrender simply lead to death, as it did in this case, he saw no point in it. He was better off fighting until the end, something that he had figured would happen the moment he became the Autobot leader. He was never going to give up: he had promised himself long ago that he would not stop fighting until he was dead. He was not about to throw in the towel now, not when there was so much at stake.

Megatron brought up his blade and Optimus went to deflect, only for such a set up to be a mere feint. In a quick motion, Megatron changed stances and brought his blade across in an entirely different angle, bypassing the blade at Optimus' left arm and cutting through that arm's elbow. The pain was quick and intense, causing the Prime to shout out. It was over within seconds, reduced to a painful throbbing as his left forearm was sliced from his body, the sword going with it.

"Ha! You can't defeat me, Prime! You are nothing! _Nothing!_" Megatron's voice had become almost piercing, boring deep into Optimus' mind. The end, it seemed, was at hand.

Optimus brought out the blade from his right arm, striking Megatron with renewed ferocity and causing him to stumble a few steps backwards. A large gash had opened up across his chest, oozing bright blue energon fluid. Optimus lunged forwards and stuck his blade straight through the centre of Megatron's chest, passing straight through the Decepticon's life-spark. Such an act sent a painful burn shooting up Optimus' arm for a few seconds as Megatron seemed to slump where he stood, his red optics looking into the blue ones of Optimus.

Even death may not be final, a fact that was proven by Megatron's resurrection the year before. So, to make sure that death was final this time around, Optimus twisted his blade while it was stuck through Megatron's life-spark. Energon and molten metal oozed out of the wound freely, as did a curious display of white sparks. Pulling his blade free, Optimus stood and watched as Megatron stumbled, his hands going to the mangled hole in the centre of his chest in a futile attempt to keep in his life energy.

"You left me no choice," Optimus said, his tone level but strained with the pain of his injuries and his increasing exhaustion.

"What…?" Megatron croaked. The glow in his optics died and he staggered backwards a few paces, his expression a mix of surprise and anger. It had been his ego that had made him leave himself open to such an attack. Megatron could have finished Optimus then and there, yet instead he had needed to go ahead and gloat and even offer the Prime a quick death. It was typical of Megatron and the same probably went with every Decepticon.

"May you be damned for eternity, Prime…" Megatron spat a second before he fell to his knees, his hands falling from his chest as the last of his strength left him.

It had been a long time coming, the death of Decepticon leader and war criminal Megatron. With a mostly passive demeanour, Optimus watched as Megatron fell forwards, tumbling into a heap on the ground with energon bleeding from the mangled hole in his chest. Another member of Optimus' family, dead. The war had claimed yet another victim, and for all the relief it brought it did indeed bring a slight pang of regret to the Prime. Megatron had been misguided into starting the war. There may have been a chance to save him…

Optimus shook his head. Megatron had been beyond saving. It was this kind of thinking, the thought that the enemy could be persuaded into ending the violence, that had originally given Optimus the supposedly clever idea of trying to apprehend Centurion. That had simply lead to more trouble, so much so that the events stemming from that attempt at capturing Centurion had brought them all here, to this quarry.

Ratchet was nearby, firing onto some of the approaching Decepticons. Returning his attention to the battle raging around him, Optimus transformed his right and only remaining arm into one of his mean cannons.

Ratchet looked his way and managed a brief glance at Megatron's corpse.

"You finally got him," Ratchet said, ducking as a volley of incoming chain-gun fire zipped by.

"And it's still not over," Optimus said. He glance the other way, catching sight of about half a dozen incoming Decepticons, most having come down from their jet forms and the dogfights raging up high. The death of Megatron had undoubtedly brought in those seeking vengeance. For a moment, Optimus was beginning to have trouble determining whether he would be able to handle anymore fighting. He remembered Deadeye, who was further into the quarry and probably needed help. No matter what it took, he needed to make sure Deadeye survived. He was the last of the Primes, the last in line to inherit a dying dynasty.

"Yes, you're right about that, Optimus," Ratchet said, nodding towards some distance figures. There were six more Decepticons approaching, their weapons drawn as they started spreading out in order to surround the two Autobots. Optimus and Ratchet backed up against each other in anticipation of the onslaught, their weapons at the ready. There were about fifteen Decepticons approaching in total, all of them looking quite annoyed at the death of Megatron.

"Are you keeping count, Optimus?" Ratchet asked, "I have been. I'd say I've taken out about nine so far…"

"I haven't been keeping track," Optimus replied. He sensed a somewhat excited, almost blasé tone to Ratchet, as if the Autobot was enjoying the fighting. This was widely out of character for such a pacifist, yet the exhaustion and resignation was evident simply by looking at Ratchet. He had probably figured he would die enjoying himself.

"There's another fifteen," Ratchet added, "How about a little competition?"

"Such as?"

"We'll see who gets the most kills," Ratchet said without shifting his gaze from the incoming foes, "And the prize…I don't actually know what the prize will be."

"Staying alive is a prize in itself," Optimus said.

"That's true." Ratchet checked both of his chain guns, making sure they were loaded and ready to fire.

Optimus' stump of a left arm throbbed painfully. His balance did seem a little off without it, though he did put the pain to the back of his mind. Right now he just needed to stay alive, something that was probably more difficult than it sounded. He supposed if Ratchet could be enjoying himself then there was no reason why he could not do the same.

* * *

As much as Deadeye would have preferred, he was taking a beating at the hands of Centurion. Sam Witwicky watched from the relative safety of a nearby building while he tried to nurse his many wounds, most of which were bleeding energon down his Cybertronian form while a woozy feeling slowly began to overcome him. He was losing too much energon, his strength was going…in fact, he felt like collapsing here and now.

Deadeye was thrown to the ground for what seemed like the umpteenth time, his once pristine form covered with dents and scorch marks. The car windshield that was at his chest was smashed, the wheels that had made up part of his legs had fallen off and one of his arms was a scorched and melted mess from contact with Centurion's personal shield. That shield had since gone, having dissipated when Deadeye had pulled the device from Centurion's back. That device was a smouldering and melted chunk of alien metal now, lying nearby and being no use to anyone.

A sense of familiarity fell upon Sam as he watched Centurion beat the living crap out of Deadeye: he had watched Centurion do the very same thing to Bumblebee only a day or two ago (he had since lost track of time through all that had happened). Now he could do little else but watch the fight and hope that Deadeye pulled through…

"Ah, Deadeye, I suppose you won't listen to reason," Centurion said rather condescendingly as he grabbed the young Autobot by the throat and lifted him up, letting his feet dangle a short height above the ground. "I promised you power, a chance to amount to something…yet you refuse, carrying the very same stubbornness as your father. That is why you're going to die…here and now, I will finish you. I will make you beg for your life. I will make you fall to your knees and beg for my mercy. You will not receive it. Instead, I'm going to enjoy tearing you apart."

Deadeye struggled against Centurion's powerful grip, bringing out a blade from his right arm and bringing it down into Centurion's arm. It cut about halfway through, causing the Decepticon to drop the smaller Autobot whilst emitting a roar of pain and anger. Deadeye rolled out of Centurion's reach, bringing out one of his sidearms and opening fire into Centurion's front.

Each round caused the Decepticon to stumble backwards, holes being blown in his front armour. Deadeye kept on firing, barely taking aim, simply hammering Centurion was energy blast after energy blast. Abruptly, his weapon overheated, smouldering red hot from the constant firing. Deadeye stopped and raised his blade with his other hand as Centurion lunged for him again, breaking through Deadeye's rather feeble sword defence and sending him flying some distance from a powerful punch.

Deadeye landed atop a dump truck, crushing it partly under his weight. The tall, monolithic alien ruins jutted out of the ground only a short distance away, towering above the brawl while protected from high velocity weaponry by some sort of shield. It was, however, passable by slower objects so Centurion had no trouble picking Deadeye up and throwing him into one of the tall alien pylons. It absorbed most of the impact, leaving Deadeye dazed and confused as he hit the ground. Slowly and determinedly, he rose to his feet.

Sam had seen such determination before during Bumblebee's fight with Centurion. Such determination was commendable, especially when it was in the face of certain death. Sam knew he should intervene, but he had no real idea on how and it was doubtful he could really help Deadeye. No, he had to stay in hiding and keep the Spear safe. He could not let himself and the Spear fall into Centurion's hands. Even so, staying in hiding while he watched Deadeye get the crap beaten out of him would be difficult, especially when he recalled what his darker self had said during another one of those hallucinogenic trips: that he and Deadeye would conceive "the future of the Cybertronian race". How would they be able to fulfil that prophecy when Deadeye was dead?

It was probably just part of Sam's obvious insanity. He had been through so much trauma it had scrambled his mind. That was what he had been thinking, anyway, regardless of how vivid the hallucinations got.

"You were a thorn in my side the first time I came to this world, Deadeye," Centurion said, approaching the weakened Autobot. He punched Deadeye across the face, sending him into the dirt once again. "And you persist in being a thorn in my side even now…"

From some distance away came the sounds of a firefight. Centurion seemed momentarily distracted by this, as if sensing something…In fact it was the death of several Decepticons he was detecting as Optimus and Ratchet began to fight their way further into the compound against the last twenty or so Decepticons left on Earth, all of which were participating in the battle for the quarry.

Centurion returned his gaze to the wounded Deadeye, who was only just starting to get up.

"You have courage, Deadeye," Centurion said, "But it is a fool's courage."

With his long jagged blade at his right arm, Centurion brought it up and wasted no time in plunging it into Deadeye's form. Sam could not stop himself from jumping out of cover, aghast as Deadeye slumped onto the ground with Centurion's sword stuck through his chest.

"Deadeye! _NO!_"

Centurion pulled his sword free, looking down at Deadeye who lay flat on his stomach, unmoving. Energon fluid oozed freely out of his many wounds. The young Autobot showed no signs of life.

Centurion turned around and met optics with Sam. Smiling, he started towards the hybrid. Sam was practically resigned to his fate now and could hardly put up any resistance as Centurion marched towards him.

* * *

At the precise moment Deadeye's life energy signature dropped off of Optimus' scanners, something within the weary Prime clicked. Even when he was taking three Decepticons on in close combat with Ratchet fighting by his side, he could not help but notice the sudden lack of Deadeye's signal. When the realization of what could have happened hit home mere seconds later, Optimus seemed to relax momentarily…

He grabbed the sword arm of the nearest Decepticon as it went to deliver a blow, twisting it out of its socket and tossing it aside. Optimus slashed his blade across this particular Decepticon's neck, decapitating it before grabbing the headless body and using it to absorb the blows from another of the Decepticons.

The next Decepticon's blade got stuck in its comrades corpse, giving Optimus the opportunity to switch his right arm from sword mode to gun mode. He blasted the Decepticon in the face, sending it falling backwards with a hole shot through its head. The last Decepticon seemed to back away as Optimus dropped the corpse of the headless Decepticon, firing on the third Decepticon soldier. All shots in his volley connected with the Decepticon's head, blowing it clean off of its shoulders.

As more of the Decepticons began to set in, Optimus had no other concern on his mind than the safety of his only son. That had been compromised, so now his only real option was to kill everyone in his way. And this is exactly what he did, with Ratchet following closely behind.

* * *

Being manhandled by Centurion was certainly uncomfortable but it was over within seconds as Centurion planted Sam in front of the tall and imposing alien ruins. There was some sort of circular dial in the front of the central pillar, one with the unmistakable hole for the Spear of Destiny.

Centurion seemed to know exactly what he was doing, grabbing the Spear off of Sam and forcing it into the hybrid's hands. Pushing Sam towards the circular dial, he knelt down and brought his face close to the ex-human's.

"Use it, Sam," Centurion said, his voice sending a shiver through Sam's form, "Channel your power through the Spear and activate these ruins."

Sam had the feeling that resistance was effectively futile at this point but there was no way he would do this willingly. The seal the fate of the world…no, the entire _universe_ himself was not something he would do by choice. He wanted to have absolutely no choice in the matter so when all hell did break loose he could tell himself that he was innocent, that he could not have done anything to prevent it…

"Do it!" Centurion said more forcefully, pushing Sam towards the dial. All within the ruins seemed to be a strange tingling sensation through the air, as if the place literally seeped with ancient arcane energy.

Sam glanced over at Deadeye's corpse. Seeing it there, Sam realized that there was no truth to any of the hallucinations he had had recently. He would be responsible for bringing Unicron out of his prison and there would be no "New Cybertron" or he and Deadeye would not be creating "the future of the Cybertronian race". It was all just a figment of Sam's imagination, made to add more meaning to an otherwise senseless waste of life.

Centurion pushed Sam so that he was practically pressed against the dial. The pincers at the end of the Decepticon's fingers were made for manipulating smaller objects so they had little effort in grabbing the Spear which Sam clutched and shoving it into its rightful place upon the dial. What followed was an odd sensation that crept up Sam's arms, one that built into an excruciating burning pain as it sapped energy from within him, carrying itself through the Spear (or Lance of Unicron as the Cybertronians knew it) before it travelled into the machine before them. Letting go of the Spear, Sam stumbled backwards, suddenly overcome with a feeling of tiredness. He stumbled out of the ruins and collapsed onto the ground, turning to watch as the ruins themselves activated. Bright waves of blue-white light had begun to extend up each of the pillars, with a white central beam shooting forth into the sky. Immediately clouds began to form, dark clouds that rippled with energy and flashed with lightning. As a cold wind began to billow across the quarry and the surrounding countryside, Centurion simply stood and watched with awe at the spectacle.

"CENTURION!"

Sam's gaze was drawn to the source of the angered and almost despairing shout. Optimus stood a short distance away, beaten and bloodied with his left arm severed just after the elbow. His right arm wielded his main cannon which was pointed directly at Centurion. Sam could see the anguish on Optimus' usually neutral features, especially when the Prime saw Deadeye's energon stained corpse. Ratchet stood nearby, both chain-guns pointed at Centurion. He seemed rather distant, beaten and bloodied up just like Optimus.

Centurion slowly turned around, facing Optimus and smiling malevolently.

"You are too late, Prime!" Centurion shouted, "The portal will open shortly and—"

Optimus did not give Centurion the satisfaction of finishing. Instead, he simply started shooting, hammering the Decepticon with shot after shot. Ratchet followed suit, pounding high powered rounds into Centurion from both chain guns. Centurion stumbled under the withering fire, backing away past the ruins behind him. Optimus and Ratchet started forwards, firing away with reasonable pauses between volleys in order to let their weapons cool down.

Sam saw that Centurion was not going down easily so he stood up, deciding that if he was going to do anything it would be now. He raced towards the dial, grabbing the Spear and pulling it free. The Spear itself was enthused with rippling waves of energy and it seemed to respond to Sam's touch, sending a euphoria inducing amount of energy into his form. Levelling the Spear towards Centurion, Sam only had to think about it for the Spear to let fly a powerful wave of blue-white energy that blasted Centurion and sent him flying backwards, melting parts of his armour and blowing a significant chunk out of him. Centurion smashed against the central pillar, slumping down its form while bathed in eerie blue light. The red glow in his optics died and his body relaxed, his head slumped to one side.

Above, dark clouds swirled around an ever-growing central point. It seemed as if a hole had been torn into the sky, one that continued to widen, rippling with energy as it grew. Sam could see only blackness beyond it and realized that he was staring directly into the event horizon of some sort of portal.

Optimus raced over to where Deadeye lay, rolling him onto his back and kneeling by his corpse. Ratchet simply watched from nearby with a subdued look on his face. It seemed they had come all this way for nothing: the portal was open and there was nothing they could do. The cold winds had since strengthened, kicking up a dust storm throughout the quarry.

Sam walked over to where Deadeye lay, looking up at Optimus. He could see that the Prime was in no mood at all to talk, looking down at Deadeye's lifeless features while thinking of all their time together and the time together they had lost.

"I was told by someone that we had an angel in our midst," Sam heard himself say. The Spear still rippled with energy, more than Sam thought he himself had. "I was told that Deadeye was that angel. Maybe they were wrong…"

"His mother was an angel, in my perception," Optimus said, his tone sullen, "I haven't told him the full truth about her. Such as how I met her…how one day, early in the war, there was a battle in one of Cybertron's larger cities. The Decepticons completely destroyed it and there were very few survivors. I was one of the first there in the aftermath and I was inexplicably drawn to one particular set of rubble, as if some invisible force was guiding me there…" He paused, looking towards Sam through narrowed optics. "Something, I don't know what, maybe Primus himself…It guided me to her. I found her in the rubble, completely unscathed as if she had barely spent any time there. And in all the time I knew her, I felt a connection…Something greater than love. As if I was meant for her. And in all the time I knew her, she did not get hurt once…Her death…I didn't tell Deadeye about how she died, exactly…"

"Do we really have time for this?" Ratchet asked, looking up. The portal was widening, continuing to take up a very large portion of the now cloudy sky.

Sam could find some sense in what Optimus was saying. Something powerful had been at work all along and had brought them to this point.

"It's important, Ratchet," Sam said evenly, "At least, I think it is."

"We never found her body," Optimus said, "She was simply there one second…and then, when the missiles struck we could find no trace of her. It's as if…"

"She simply disappeared," Sam said.

Above, the clouds continued to swirl around the ever growing portal. And amongst the blackness, a red glow could be seen. It began to take form, outlining the unmistakable visage of a large red optic, one that blazed with a furious red flame. It was an eye that took up nearly the entire sky over Venezuela as the portal had spread well over the area of the entire country. Streaks of unstable energy shot down out of the clouds and started fires and blasted holes in the ground. The streets of Maracaibo were full of frightened people while some simply locked themselves indoors and hoped for things to pass. The main column of energy continued to stream upwards, opening the portal even further.

"Then he…I…" Sam struggled to form a cohesive sentence as he remembered what his darker self had said. "He was right. I was right. There are higher powers at work here, there are angels in our midst." He could barely believe he was saying all of this, but there was no other explanation. This entire thing had been planned from the beginning: Unicron had manipulated all of them but he had not been able to take into account the intervention of two angels: Deadeye's "mother" and Deadeye himself. It was too much of a coincidence if one discounted all of the talk of "angels".

"It sounds completely insane to me," Sam continued, "But regardless, what the hell do we do now?" He looked up as the Eye of Unicron took complete shape, being only part of the planet-sized planet devouring evil megalomaniac. And the Voice of Unicron that followed seemed to bore right into the minds of those across hundreds of miles, causing a familiar splitting headache to begin in Sam's head. Windows shattered, birds died mid-flight and some of the more ill and frail people within earshot of Unicron's voice simply dropped dead. What made things even worse was how Unicron's eye seemed to be glaring directly down at Sam.

"_**I AM FREE!"**_


	41. Angels and Demons

_You ask me where to begin?  
__And I so lost in my sin  
__You ask me where did I fall?  
__I'll say I can't tell you when...  
_-"I'll Find My Way Home" by Vangelis and Jon Anderson

* * *

**Angels and Demons  
**December 17th, 2010  
A quarry in Venezuela

Sam Witwicky became aware of the fact that he was bleeding again. A splitting pain had shot through his head and it felt as if it would split in half. Where he stood, surrounded by swirling leaves, dust and other light debris, he fell to his knees. Energon fluid oozed from behind his eyes, trickling down his metal features like tears. Some leaked from behind the plates on his arms and chest, almost as if there was something destroying him from within. The Spear, warm and rippling with flowing energy, fell from his grip as he hit the dirt, unable to stand the immense pain that was flowing through him.

He rolled onto his back, looking up at the darkened sky and the swirling clouds that crackled with energy. The portal that had seemingly been torn in the fabric of reality itself had widened far over the country, with Unicron's glaring red optic clearly visible. Indeed, it looked like he was the size of a planet. The consequences of his emergence from the portal, one it was large enough, would be disastrous. Sam needed to stop him somehow, yet he was crippled with pain and could do little but yelp.

He saw Optimus and Ratchet in his peripheral vision, suffering from similar agony. Optimus stood his ground, trying his best to fight Unicron's presence. Nearby lay the mangled corpse of Deadeye, motionless and collecting dirt as the ever strengthening winds began to kick up a dust storm.

Something deep inside Sam seemed to activate, a yearning for the seemingly divine being visible through the portal…It was odd, but Sam felt a sense of familiarity with Unicron and not just because he had heard the being's voice before. There was something else, something deeper and more innate programmed within the more Cybertronian parts of his mind. He knew he had to fight it, yet to fight something that could cripple him with pain at the mere thought seemed impossible.

The column of energy that went from the central pillar of the ruins and into the centre of the portal seemed to crackle, as if gathering up more energy in order to strengthen the opening into the void.

"It's him…" Sam heard Ratchet speak, his voice croaky under the pain that ran through his head, "I can't believe it…"

The pain subsided, becoming a faint but noticeable throb within Sam's head. Looking up, Sam's gaze went into Unicron's optic…becoming lost in its intricacies, unwittingly being drawn into its influence. He shook his head, sitting up as he tried to gather himself.

Is this not what they had been trying to prevent? Centurion had successfully activated the portal. Unicron was going to return and the world would be destroyed. The Autobots had failed to prevent this, Sam had failed…Sam was once again overcome with that loss of hope, that all he and everyone else had done had been a futile effort. There had to be some means of stopping Unicron now, this could not be the end. Yet Sam was sure it was, as they surely could not fight someone who was as powerful as Unicron. It seemed that Unicron was a near divine entity, capable of exerting considerable influence and having the power to devour entire worlds. Who could defeat that?

"The portal's getting larger by the minute," Ratchet said, stepping past Sam. He took a careful look at the central pillar and the startlingly high column of swirling energy. "We have to shut it down."

"How do we do that?" Sam asked, feeling weak. It was unnerving, to feel Unicron watching him. Sam looked down at himself and briefly took in the full extent of his injuries: the holes that had been blown through him, the mangled chunk that had been blown from his right arm. If he had still been human, he would have died already. Luckily, or perhaps unluckily (he still had not decided) he was not human anymore. Far from it, in fact. He looked like a typical Cybertronian in all but height.

"It must have something to do with the Spear," Ratchet said. He started to where it lay, only for it to emit a powerful burst of energy that shocked him and made him stumble backwards. Shaking his head as he regained his footing, he looked to Sam.

"It won't let me get near it," he said, his voice a mix of anger and frustration, "It's attuned to you, Sam. You have to stop this."

"I don't know how…" Sam looked to the Spear and then to the ruins. There had to be a way to shut it down, it would be stupid if there was not. What kind of design flaw would that be? He supposed that the builders of this very ancient machine had not reckoned that it would ever be activated. Who would have wanted to free Unicron?

Centurion had obviously been a special case. Yet he lay dead, slumped against the central pillar and riddled with blast holes. Without that personal shield of his, he had been just as vulnerable as any other Decepticon. Deadeye had died making sure this was the case.

"_**YOU CANNOT STOP THE INEVITABLE!"**_ Unicron's voice bored through each of their minds, sending a sharp pain through their very form. Sam groaned, putting a hand to his head but gaining no relief.

"_**I WOULD LIKE TO THANK YOU, SAM WITWICKY,"**_ Unicron continued. Sam looked up, both surprised and confused. What he had done that Unicron was thankful to him for?

"What? Why?" Sam tried to fight the pain that was boring its way through his head but had little success. It seemed that Unicron's presence had that effect on Cybertronians.

"_**DO YOU NOT KNOW ALREADY?"**_ Unicron followed this rhetorical question with a chuckle._** "THE MOMENT YOU CAME INTO EXISTENCE, YOU FELL INTO MY PLAN. WHEN YOU SPEND AS LONG AS I HAVE IN THE VOID, TIME LOSES ITS MEANING. I'VE HAD AN ETERNITY TO PERFECT MY PLAN, TO ENSURE ALL OF THE PIECES WERE IN PLAY. THE SPEAR, THE AUTOBOTS, CENTURION AND YOU…ESPECIALLY YOU."**_

"Don't listen to him, Sam," Optimus said from behind, briefly getting Sam's attention, "He's just trying to confuse you. Don't let him in your head, don't…"

At that moment Optimus was crippled with pain, falling onto all fours as he tried to recover from Unicron's "mind attack". Sam found his attention was drawn back to Unicron's glaring red eye, his gaze becoming lost within its many intricacies…

"_**I ONCE HAD MANY FOLLOWERS. THOSE OF MY OWN CREATIONS I DUBBED 'MINICONS'. YOU, SAM, ARE THE FIRST NEW ONE OF THOSE. YOUR TRANSFORMATION WAS PART OF MY PLAN, YOUR VISIONS WERE AS WELL…YOUR WHOLE LIFE HAS BEEN GUIDED BY ME. IN ESSENCE, YOUR LIFE HAS BEEN A LIE. AND NOW YOU WILL SERVE ME, LEST YOU BECOME THE FIRST VICTIM IN MY NEW REIGN OF DARKNESS."**_

Sam could hardly believe what he was hearing. It was too far-fetched, yet it made a strange sort of sense. Why had he been the one to become directly involved in the Autobot-Decepticon war in the first place? Why had it not been some other human being? He had often wondered this, he had wondered why he had never had the opportunity to live a genuinely "normal" life. And now Unicron had delivered the explanation, that he had been part of the plan from the beginning: Unicron would return, all because of Sam Witwicky.

"This can't be true," Sam said aloud though it was directed more to himself than anyone else. "This…this is…"

_**"IMPOSSIBLE? I BELIEVE NOT. YOU BELONG TO ME, SAM WITWICKY. YOU HAVE HELPED TO SET ME FREE, AS WAS DESTINED BY MYSELF. YOU HAVE BECOME THE MONSTER I INTENDED YOU WOULD BECOME: YOU HAVE KILLED MANY PEOPLE. THAT KILLING INSTINCT HAS DEVELOPED WITHIN YOU AND NOW YOU WILL USE IT TO AID ME. IF YOU DO NOT OBEY, I WILL KILL ALL THOSE DEAR TO YOU. IF YOU ACCEPT ME AS YOUR MASTER, I WILL REWARD YOU. A UNIVERSE OF YOUR OWN TO RULE, POWER BEYOND YOUR WILDEST IMAGININGS…"**_

Sam did not want to hear anymore of it. Rather, he just wanted this to be all over. It was too much, far too much, to handle: he had been a pawn in a much larger game all along, destined to become a complete and utter monster…just like the darker version of himself he had been seeing lately. It occurred to him that the two were linked and he had a feeling how. Until now, he had thought he might have just been going crazy but now it all made sense: he had been manipulated, guided along a predetermined path. Primus had never been involved, otherwise things would not be going as badly as they were now.

"_**AND NOW, SAM, YOU WILL PROVE THAT YOU ARE LOYAL TO ME BY USING THE SPEAR TO KILL THE TWO PETTY AUTOBOTS WITH YOU,"**_ Unicron boomed.

Sam looked to Optimus and Ratchet. He could see the doubt on their faces, the lack of faith they had in the face of such odds. Sam met gazes with Optimus, sensing that the trust they had was waning.

Overcome with another splitting headache, Sam Witwicky collapsed into the dirt.

* * *

When he came to, he was no longer at the quarry. In fact, he was nowhere near it: his childhood home as he remembered it was his newest location, a return to that "safe haven" he had retreated to in the hardest times of the last few days. Standing in the living room, he looked around: The sun was up outside, with light streaming in through the windows. The furniture was how it had always been set up, the television a rather sizeable plasma screen. Seated on the couch was his darker self, looking very much as Sam did now.

"You…" Sam began, speechless for a moment. He was interrupted when his darker self stood up and spoke, giving the Cybertronian version of a malevolent smile.

"_The best liars mix truth with their lies,"_ his darker self said, _"You may be the key to a future, but it's certainly not a good one."_

"You're not even me, are you?" Sam asked, the realization dawning on him. This entire time he had been manipulated, made to believe one thing while in fact the truth had been far different.

"_You could say I'm a demon, Sam,"_ his darker self said, stepping towards him. He stopped a mere half metre from Sam, looking into his optics whilst carrying that sinister grin on his metal face. _"Part of Unicron transmitted into your mind, made specifically to guide you into becoming the monster you were destined to be."_

Sam could feel that sense of hopelessness descending again. He stumbled backwards slightly at the thought that he had already started becoming this monster before him: the physical look was all there and the fact that he had killed many people hinted that he was well on his way to fulfilling his destiny.

"What about the Primes I saw when I was dying back in Egypt? They said I had a destiny!" Sam asked, his tone defiant. "What about what you said about Deadeye being an angel? What about that all, huh? WHAT ABOUT IT? HOW DOES IT FIT IN?" He did not realize he was shouting, descending into a frantic state of mind as he tried to fathom all that he had realized.

From nearby, the stereo began playing a somewhat familiar RollinG Stones tune: _"Please allow me to introduce myself, I'm a man of wealth and taste…I've been around a long, long year…stole many a man's soul and place…"_

Sam started pacing, trying to control his temper. He knew that anger would only take him further along Unicron's destiny for him but he could not control it. He was shouting now, mostly incomprehensibly as he paced the living room. He kicked over the coffee table, smashing the glass tabletop and sending shards scattering across the floor. With a single punch, Sam put his right forearm through the plasma television, sending sparks flying. Pulling it free of the empty shell of a television set, he turned around and saw his darker self was still smiling.

"Why? Why me?"

"_No reason, other than the fact we just like fucking with you,"_ his darker self said, following this statement up with a hearty chuckle. With that, Sam delivered a crippling left hook against his darker counterpart's face.

And the stereo continued to play: _"I was around when Jesus Christ had his moment of doubt and pain…Made damn sure the Pilate washed his hands and sealed his fate…"_

His darker self stumbled backwards into the couch and Sam was quick to follow, delivering another blow across his darker counterpart's face, sending a fine spray of energon fluid flying outwards.

"_Pleased to meet you…Hope you guessed my name…"_

Part of one of the metal plates on his darker counterpart's face broke off, letting energon fluid ooze out freely. Sam, in his frenzied state, had taken his darker self completely by surprise, giving him little chance to fight back.

"_But what's puzzlin' you…is the nature of my game…"_

One blow followed another and each was just as powerful as the last, further crippling his darker self. And with each blow, Sam descended further and further into insanity.

"_Stuck around St. Petersburg….When I saw it was a time for a change…Killed the Tsar and his ministers…Anastasia screamed in vain…"_

The energon fluid was thick in Sam's hands and yet his rage was barely sated, especially since his darker self was laughing at him the entire time.

"_I rode a tank…Held a general's rank…When the Blitzkrieg raged…And the bodies stank!"_

"You fucking lying piece of shit!" Sam shouted, his judgement blinded by the rage he felt. He hoisted his darker self off of the couch and threw him onto the floor, stepping over to his bloodied form and kicking him in the sides repeatedly.

"_Pleased to meet you…hope you guessed my name…But what's puzzlin' you…is the nature of my game…"_

His darker self struggled to speak through the relentless beating. Sam transformed his left arm into its sword form, bringing the blade down and severing his darker self's left arm from his body. His darker self roared in pain and anger. If this was some sort of hallucination, it was by far the mod vivid one he had ever had.

With a powerful movement, Sam hoisted his darker self up and threw him against the stereo that stood on a table nearby. The machine broke under the impact and the song that had been playing abruptly ended.

"Is Deadeye really an angel?" Sam asked, deciding to try and gleam some useful information. His darker self, who lay sprawled by a window, beaten and bloodied with energon fluid, looked Sam's way and narrowed his gaze.

"_It no longer matters,"_ his darker self said, _"It is far too late for Primus to intervene in any way…"_

"Fine, be an asshole," Sam said, once again hoisting up his darker counterpart. Throwing him through the nearest window, Sam followed him out onto the lawn. The street was how Sam remembered it and seemed to go on for as far as it did in reality. In fact, there seemed to be no limit to this dream-world.

Sam brought his blade down again, sticking it through his darker self's chest. With a final glare and groan, his darker self clutched at the blade stuck through him before finally lying still. Sam pulled the blade free and reverted his left arm back into its normal form. He only spared a moment to look at his darker self who lay dead on the grass, a sprinkler nearby spraying a fine sprinkle of water upon him. It only took Sam a quick glance at his reflection in a window at the front of the house for him to realize just how much like his darker self he looked.

Another voice, an unfamiliar and somewhat feminine sounding one, came from nearby. It scared the living daylights out of Sam but he quickly recovered, turning around to look at the Cybertronian who had appeared on the lawn. Sam did not know if it was a he or a she, as genders probably did not count for much with Cybertronians. The feminine sounding voice lead him to believe that the one he was faced with could indeed by considered a "she".

She was tall, perhaps only slightly shorter than Optimus Prime. Her frame was a bright glistening silver, completely clear of dirt, scorch marks and scars. It was perhaps unnaturally clean, something that lead Sam to realize that all was not as it seemed with this Cybertronian. The fact that she was intruding upon his dream-world should have been enough of a warning…yet he felt strangely reassured in her presence, as if she emitted some sort of warm and friendly aura. Her optics were a blazing light blue and the odd warm glow that surrounded her gave her a very angelic appearance.

"Sam Witwicky?" She asked.

"Who are you?" Sam snapped, somewhat harshly, "And what the hell are you doing in _my_ dream?" He eased his tone somewhat, realizing just how angry he sounded. He had no reason to be angry with this particular Cybertronian, at least this was what a voice in his head was telling him. It was probably his conscience, something he had not heard much from recently.

"There is still time, Sam," the Cybertronian said, "You may have been manipulated by Unicron, but there is always a chance to reverse things, to change the destiny Unicron made for you…"

"How do I know you're not just another one of his evil…" He trailed off, realizing that he still had no idea what his darker self had been. A demon, maybe? The Cybertronian equivalent of one, anyway. "His evil minions? Like I'm supposed to be?"

"Because I'm not," the Cybertronian said in a reassuring tone, "You have my word."

"The word of a Cybertronian I barely know isn't much to go on."

There was a pause. Neither spoke for a moment before the Cybertronian stepped forwards a few paces. She looked down at Sam carefully and somewhat thoughtfully.

"You know my mate, Optimus Prime," she said, "And my offspring, Deadeye."

Sam froze. So this was Optimus' bond partner? Some sort of Cybertronian angel, complete with warm glow? This whole situation was getting hard to believe.

"You're Deadeye's…"

"Mother. I suppose you could use that term to describe it." She paused, mulling over the thought momentarily. "Unicron may have planned everything, he may have manipulated everyone involved into doing as he envisioned, but he has not taken into account the very one thing that will stop him. You have the power to bring Deadeye back, to end this for good. However, it may be at the cost of your own life. If you do not do this, you are destined to become Unicron's servant."

Sam gave the Cybertronian equivalent of a sigh, shaking his head.

"Is there anything else I should know?"

"Optimus is about to do something drastic," the Cybertronian continued, "You have to stop him."

"He misses you, you know," Sam said, "I think, if he saw you again…"

"He will," she replied, "Some day." Her gaze went strangely distant and Sam could feel the anguish emanating from her. Something was keeping her away from Optimus. It occurred to Sam that there were higher powers at work and that Optimus' bond-partner must have been some sort of higher Cybertronian being, sent to the mortal realm for some reason…

"I was sent to your universe to observe the conflict with the Autobots and Decepticons," the Cybertronian said, as if reading Sam's mind (she could very well have done that, Sam could not be sure). "I fell in love with Optimus but the others recalled me shortly after I conceived with him. I broke the rules and for that I'm being punished."

"Rules?" Sam raised an eyebrow ridge. This whole thing was oddly fascinating.

"I was disallowed from ever contacting Optimus or anyone else in your universe for an indefinite period," the Cybertronian said, "But I've managed to contact you without being noticed by the others. My time here is limited, but I want you to pass on to Optimus that I love him and always will. That one day our fates may collide. In fact, _they_ will collide. But you must stop him from doing what he is about to do. You must bring back Deadeye. He will have the power to stop Unicron. And by doing so, you will conceive the future of the Cybertronian race."  
Sam thought this was an awful lot for a higher power to be placing on his shoulders.

"Do you have a name?" He asked.

"My Cybertronian name is rather difficult to pronounce," she replied, "But my call sign during the war was Skyrunner. Optimus knows me best by that name."

And with that, Sam was brought back to reality in a rather sickening lurch.

* * *

"Optimus, what are you doing?" Ratchet sounded frantic. Sam only became aware of his voice at the last moment, coming into consciousness and only gathering his surroundings after a lengthy period of fumbling around in the dirt.

Optimus had gone for where the Spear lay, rippling with energy. It seemed to repel him as it did to Ratchet, but Optimus through sheer determination fought his way through the searing energy it emanated. His arms burning painfully, he grabbed it and started straight for the central pillar.

Sam stood up, realizing he was back in the quarry. Skyrunner had said that Optimus would do something drastic and Sam supposed that what was happening now was it.

Ratchet started after Optimus but the energy field released by the Spear forced him back. Optimus was obviously in a lot of agony, the energy eating away at his form in places yet he retained his grip on the object. He was at the central pillar now, barely managing a look back. Unicron, on the other hand, was watching him with a narrowed eye.

"_**WHAT IS THIS? INSIGNIFICANT PRIME! YOU CANNOT HOPE TO DEFEAT ME!"**_

"Optimus, wait!" Sam shouted, but his shout was lost amongst the noise of the central column of energy as it whirred and crackled. Once again that pain shot through his head, hurting like hell and causing him to fall onto his knees again. Ratchet was suffering from much the same and neither could do little else but watch Optimus meet his destiny.

Quickly scaling the pillar, Optimus carried the Spear with him into the column of energy emanating from the top that lead directly into the heart of the portal. He looked up at Unicron's eye with a determined look on his features. In his view, he had nothing left to live for. The Autobots were all but gone and Deadeye was dead. His only purpose now was to stop Unicron, no matter the cost.

As he brought the Spear into the column of energy, disturbances rippled across the column's length. It stuttered and began to cut out, with shockwaves being sent forth that rippled across the energy column's length. The portal high above flashed violently. The energy crackling in the clouds above began to increase with ferocity and Unicron's voice boomed with anger within their minds.

"_**WHAT! NO! YOU CANNOT! YOU MUST NOT! DO NOT…"**_

There was a brilliant white flash. Sam was sent flying a short distance, landing in the dirt with his head face-down. Ratchet was bowled over by the shockwave, one that blasted out across the quarry and shot through the surrounding rainforest. Leaves were blasted clean off of trees. The soldiers within the quarry and along its perimeter were knocked over. The streets of Maracaibo were ruined by the tumultuous shockwave which blasted out windows and overturned vehicles.

"_**I WILL NOT STAND FOR THIS!"**_ Unicron boomed, his voice laced with unspeakable rage. _**"YOU CANNOT DEFEAT A GOD!"**_ Something red and shimmering shot down the turbulent current of energy from the portal, finding its way to Centurion's corpse. Seconds later, the portal disappeared in a flash and the column of energy vanished, Optimus along with it. The entire quarry fell silent.

Sam slowly rose to his feet, as did Ratchet. Looking up at the clear night sky, Sam felt an overwhelming sense of relief. This relief was short lived when he saw that Optimus had completely vanished, along with the Spear. In fact, it was as if he had never existed.

Ratchet stepped over to the set of pillars from where the energy had emanated. They had been reduced to smouldering and charred husks. Oddly enough, Centurion's corpse was missing.

"He's gone," Ratchet said, "He's just…gone."

Sam was about to say something when he was distracted by a reddish flash: the unmistakable form of Centurion appeared behind Ratchet, seemingly teleporting in from nowhere. It reminded Sam of the way the Fallen had done something similar, vanishing and reappearing some place else within seconds.

"Ratchet! Watch out!" Sam shouted.

Ratchet turned around, just to have the supercharged Centurion punch him across the face. The blow sent Ratchet flying some distance and he came to rest, mostly motionless, in a few piles of dirt nearby. Centurion, who had a reddish glow around him and had startlingly bright red optics, turned around and started for Sam.

"**You think you can defeat a God?"** Unicron's all too familiar voice came out of Centurion's mouth. It sent a chill down Sam's spine as he realized that Unicron, or at least part of his essence, had come out of that portal and possessed Centurion's corpse.

"**You will be my slave, Sam,"** Unicron said, stopping a short distance from where Sam had stumbled onto the ground. **"We will reopen the portal and you will allow **_**all**_** of me entry into this universe…For what inhabits this vessel is a mere portion of my being…"**

Unicron/Centurion stumbled when chain-gun rounds started hammering his form. With an angered roar, he turned around and looked towards Ratchet, who stood some distance away with both chain-guns firing. Disappearing and leaving nothing but a reddish glow in the air that quickly faded, Unicron/Centurion reappeared directly in front of Ratchet and knocked him aside with ease. As Ratchet went down, he shouted out to Sam.

"I can't hold him off, Sam! Get help!"

Sam's gaze went to Deadeye as he recalled all that Skyrunner had told him. He had been unable to stop Optimus from doing something drastic but he could still bring back Deadeye.

Racing to where Deadeye's corpse lay, he climbed upon the Autobot's form and worked his hands between the plating at the dead Autobot's chest. The life-spark was practically extinguished, something Sam knew he had to rectify. He glanced over to where Unicron/Centurion (Centunicron?) was and saw that Ratchet was effectively getting the crap beaten out of him. With little delay, Sam began to concentrate, much the same way he had done in order to bring Grimlock back from the dead.

The euphoria inducing wave of energy that overcame him both hurt and felt great at the same time. The drain on him was immense though and it was far harder bringing Deadeye back compared to Grimlock: at least Grimlock had had some life in him. Deadeye was completely missing a single spark of life.

When Deadeye's optics flared up in a bright shimmering blue colour, Sam knew immediately that he had succeeded. Even so, he could barely stand up and as the euphoria faded so did his energy. He fell off of Deadeye's form, collapsing into the dirt and remaining there. He could only lie back and watch as Deadeye slowly came to, sitting up as his wounds closed themselves up within seconds. A blue glow seemed to surround him and he looked to where Sam lay, a curious gaze crossing his metallic features.

"I feel great," Deadeye said, standing up, "What did you do to me?"

Sam gave the robotic equivalent of a sigh.

"I think I might have just fucked you," he replied. Damn, he felt embarrassed. Deadeye, on the other hand, did not seem to think too much of it.

Deadeye's gaze went to where Centunicron was fighting Ratchet. Pulling out both of his guns, Deadeye opened fire. From where Sam lay, Deadeye genuinely did look angelic, with the shimmering blue glow that poured off of him. Centunicron stumbled under the fire, turning around and teleporting again. He reappeared directly in front of Deadeye, swinging one arm and sending the young Autobot reeling backwards.

Above, a helicopter hovered into view as Deadeye and Centunicron fought it out. A familiar figure stood in the side door of the helicopter, megaphone held to his mouth. Major William Lennox wasted no time getting to the point:

"_Sam! Autobots! The Venezuelans have called in a complete air strike! They're going to destroy the entire quarry! Get out of there! It'll arrive any minute!"_

Sam barely had enough energy to move. Slowly, very slowly he rose to his feet. He had to steady himself on a nearby boulder before he could find his own footing.

Nearby, Deadeye dodged most of Centunicron's blows, delivering several of his own which rippled with blue-white energy. Somehow Sam had transferred much of his powers to the young Autobots, something that explained the energy drain Sam had suffered. Sam knew he needed to get out of here and started heading to the main road that ran through the quarry. It was a fair walk and it seemed unlikely that he would make it out in time.

"**You cannot kill a God!"**

Centunicron was in a frenzy but Deadeye seemed to be holding his own, remarkably enough. The pair pounded each other around relentlessly, ending up close to the central ruins. Finally, Centunicron left himself open to attack whilst gloating as was to be expected of a powerful entity.

"**I will destroy you all! You dare fight against the mighty Unicron?"**

Deadeye kicked Centunicron backwards, firing off a volley of shots into the Decepticon's face. As Centunicron's head exploded, the red haze surrounding him seemed to dim. Deadeye planted the barrels of both of his guns against Centunicron's chest and fired, blasting two big holes though the ex-Decepticon's form. All this time, Deadeye was glowing brightly, like some sort of angel as he killed the demon before him.

Lennox's helicopter began buzzing away, undoubtedly because the air strike was near. Sam tried to run but could manage little more than a slow waddle. Deadeye left Centunicron's body in the dirt and headed a separate way, as did Ratchet. Neither were in any position to outrun the incoming bombs but it was worth a try.

Sam came to one of the deeper holes that had been dug out in the quarry. With little other option before him, he jumped. Above, a large bomber roared overhead, its bomb bay doors opening. As fire consumed the quarry, flames brushed at Sam's back as he let himself fall. What followed was nothing but darkness.


	42. The Circle Closes

_This is the end  
__Beautiful friend  
__This is the end  
__My only friend, the end  
__Of our elaborate plans, the end  
__Of everything that stands, the end  
__No safety or surprise, the end  
__I'll never look into your eyes…again  
_-From the song "The End", by The Doors

* * *

**The Circle Closes**

Optimus Prime awoke to find himself alone. Around him was dense jungle foliage, with a thick canopy above that blotted out most of the sun's rays. He still clutched the Spear in one hand, although now its energy rippled over him instead. In fact, he felt strangely more alive than he had ever felt, as if this energy had completely rejuvenated him.

He tossed the Spear aside, finding that it was useless now that its energy had transferred into him. Standing up, he took in his jungle surroundings and realized then that he was far from where he had just been. Looking up, his scanners were quick to point out that the atmosphere was practically the same as that on Earth, save for the fact that there were far less pollutants in the air.

The foliage itself was far denser than anything he had ever seen. Some of the plant varieties he had never seen before and he had researched Earth and its various life-forms quite thoroughly. Trudging through the thick jungle, he eventually came to a clearing. Beyond that were rolling hills that continued into the horizon, far beyond the range of his scanners. And at the foot of the nearest hill was some sort of settlement, the sort that stood out against the natural surroundings. It was metal and curved into some sort of large dome, although there were no signs of life.

He became aware of footsteps behind him. Turning around, he was faced with two large and very ancient looking Cybertronians who emerged from the jungle, weapons raised as they took in the glowing Prime before them. One exchanged words with the other, speaking an ancient tongue that sounded very much like what Grimlock had spoken during the short time Optimus had known him.

Raising his arms in a friendly gesture, Optimus hoped to show these two that he was not going to harm them…unless they tried to harm him.

"My name is Optimus Prime," he said, although he doubted they could understand anything he was saying, "Can you tell me where I am?"

Neither Cybertronian answered. Instead, one of them raised its weapon and fired some sort of powerful stun blast. When Optimus fell they set upon him immediately, grabbing him and carrying off towards the settlement. Optimus, in his dazed state, could do little but let them drag him along.

When he came to yet again, Optimus found himself inside a room within the settlement, faced with a very familiar looking Cybertronian. He sat up immediately, his gaze going straight to her. There were a few other ancient Cybertronians in the room with them, including the unmistakable form of Grimlock. Where the hell had he ended up? None of them seemed aware that Skyrunner was here, the mate he had watched die. She seemed to have an odd warm glow around her and she placed a reassuring hand to his shoulder.

"You were always destined for greatness," she said.

"Skyrunner…I…What…" He struggled to form a cohesive sentence. "Where am I?"

"You're still on Earth," Skyrunner said, "The question is, when? I'm here to tell you a few things. I can't stay for long…"

"Please…stay…" Optimus could not believe what he was seeing. The only one he had loved and watched die was here, well and alive. He could not let her leave him now, not again.

"I can't," Skyrunner said, "I'm in enough trouble already. Anyway, Optimus, you have to listen: Unicron's forces have taken over all of Cybertronian space. He's trying to build himself an army. Those Cybertronians at the other side of this room?" She nodded towards Grimlock and the others. "They're a few of the thousand or so who have fled here, to Earth. You have to help them defeat Unicron."

Optimus was finding this difficult to follow. If he was still on Earth, then what year was it? There was no evidence of any sort of human communications grid, no Internet…he was completely isolated.

"How do I do that?" Optimus asked, trying to digest all of this information. He wanted Skyrunner to stay, if only for a while.

"The Spear contained the plans for the portal machine," Skyrunner said, "It downloaded them into you." She prodded him in the chest with one finger. "You just have to share them with your new friends over there…"

"What does this all mean?" Optimus asked, although he was beginning to realize.

"You're part of a cycle, one I've tried numerous times to break," Skyrunner said, "There were always other means of defeating Unicron. To break the cycle would prevent him from further perfecting his plans again. But now that you're here, you have a part to play. You need to build that machine, with the help of the Cybertronians here. You have to put Unicron away into his outer-dimensional prison…again. And then we will have one more chance of changing things."

"What about you, Skyrunner?" Optimus had the feeling that after this, he would never see her again.

"I have to leave," she said, "One day we'll meet again, hopefully under better circumstances."

"What about Grimlock?" Optimus nodded towards the Cybertronian in question, who was eyeing him from the other side of the room carefully. "Wouldn't he recognize me in the future?"

"You're going to tell him not to say anything about it," Skyrunner replied, "The knowledge that you're some kind of messiah back in time might change the outcome of what happens in the future. Your future self might feel inclined to keep this cycle going. I can't keep allowing that, otherwise, soon enough, Unicron will succeed completely. He has played it out so many times that each time he keeps changing something. We've played all of our cards already: the All-spark, the Matrix of Leadership, Deadeye, Sam…We're running out of options. This time, Optimus, you're going to leave a message in the machine. You've tried it before but it's never worked, but I hope that this time it will. It just requires some practice."

"But what about you?" Optimus asked, "Will we meet again?"

"Yes," Skyrunner said, standing up. She looked down at him, her optics betraying the anguish she was feeling. "Eventually."

Optimus watched as she seemed to just…fade away. With her gone, he was left to fulfil his destiny. Whether or not he would enjoy it was another thing entirely.

* * *

The quarry outside of Maracaibo, Venezuela

December 17th, 2010

Sam still lay in a catatonic state near the ruins. He looked rather useless lying there while Unicron gloated from above. Ratchet was lying wounded, barely able to stand. The clouds above were dark and crackling with energy as the portal into the void continued to widen. Centurion lay dead by the ruins, as did Deadeye.

Optimus had considered his options. If the Spear had started this process then the Spear could end it. This was his reasoning as he started towards it, being repelled by the concussive waves of energy it released. Still, he fought his way towards it, finally taking it in one hand as its energy burned away at the front of his physical form. The pain was building, becoming almost excruciating as he started towards the central pillar.

As he neared it, something on the pillar slipped open and a blinding blue light shot out, hitting him squarely in the optics. Stumbling backwards, he roared in pain as the light bored directly into his mind, downloading a staggering amount of information within seconds. The light shut off and Optimus was left to stumble around for a moment, trying to digest everything that had been implanted into his mind. The cycle, his purpose, the plans for the portal machine…Suddenly everything made sense.

At that moment Sam sat up, having returned to the land of the living. He rose to his feet and looked towards Optimus.

"Optimus! Wait!" He shouted. He went to run but fell into the dirt, overcome with yet another one of Unicron's "mind attacks".

Optimus took out one gun and trained it on Centurion's corpse. Firing several shots, he blew the top half of the dead Decepticon away. It was "insurance" as the message from the past claimed. With that done, Optimus started towards the central pillar, blasting the main dial where the machine had been activated from. It exploded into a shower of blue sparks, sending a noticeable ripple across the column of energy. Using the Spear, Optimus shoved it into the hole that had been blasted into the pillar, the concussive wave of energy that was released sending him flying backwards.

"_**WHAT! NO! YOU CANNOT! YOU MUST NOT! DO NOT…"**_

There was a brilliant white flash. Sam was sent flying a short distance, landing in the dirt with his head face-down. Ratchet was bowled over by the shockwave, one that blasted out across the quarry and shot through the surrounding rainforest. Leaves were blasted clean off of trees. The soldiers within the quarry and along its perimeter were knocked over. The streets of Maracaibo were ruined by the tumultuous shockwave which blasted out windows and overturned vehicles.

"_**I WILL NOT STAND FOR THIS!"**_ Unicron boomed, his voice laced with unspeakable rage. _**"YOU CANNOT DEFEAT A GOD!"**_ Something red and shimmering shot down the turbulent current of energy from the portal, hitting Optimus in the chest as he struggled to rise to his feet. He was knocked back onto the ground, catching a glimpse of the sky as the portal closed and the clouds swirling around it vanished entirely. The quarry fell silent.

* * *

Major William Lennox had been watching the entire scene from a ridge overlooking the quarry compound, along with Epps, Winters, James, Jones and Simmons. Morshower was arguing with Carmona nearby while NEST and Venezuelan soldiers had begun moving into the quarry to secure it. None were entirely sure about what had just happened, although they all knew that they had just confronted something very evil. Some distance away, a Venezuelan military helicopter was preparing for take-off.

"Thank God that's over," Jones Marshall commented from nearby, "I'm not entirely sure what just happened, but I think we just won."

"Sam and the Autobots are still down there," James said, "We have to go in and find them. They might need our help."

Morshower approached the group, having finished his argument with General Carmona. He did not look very pleased judging by the way his face was scrunched into a frustrated scowl.

"There won't be anything of the kind," he said bluntly, "Carmona's just ordered a complete blitz of the quarry and the alien ruins, one that's been authorized by his government. The entire place is going to be levelled by a carpet bombing run. They're going to be dropping the largest ordinance they have."

"But the Autobots…" Epps started, only to get interrupted.

"Acceptable losses, according to Carmona," Morshower said with discontent, "I don't agree, though."

"We could at least warn them," Winters suggested.

"None of our radios are working," Lennox said, his gaze going to the helicopter about to take-off from nearby. Without much thought, he started running towards it, jumping on board and surprising the pilot and co-pilot with his presence. It did not take much persuasion for them to agree to fly him over the quarry, although General Carmona was not pleased as he came running and shouting at the helicopter as it took off. Lennox just managed a cheerful wave his way as the helicopter flew off.

* * *

"We did it!" Sam exclaimed, although he felt absolutely exhausted. "We won!"

Ratchet rose to his feet somewhat wearily. He cast his gaze over at Optimus, who was also slowly rising to his feet. Ratchet and Sam immediately saw that something was wrong when they noticed the red glow that Optimus now carried, as well as the fact that his optics were a blazing orange colour. The voice that came from his mouth was not that of Optimus, but of Unicron.

"**You cannot defeat a God!"** Unicron exclaimed. Pulling free both of Optimus' weapons, he blasted Ratchet and sent the Autobot medic reeling into the dirt. Sam turned around, surveying his surroundings for anything that could be of help. His gaze went to Deadeye as he remembered what he had been told in his dreamscape by the Autobot "angel". At least, he assumed it was some sort of higher being.

Optimus/Unicron had since started to the wounded Ratchet, lifting him up by the throat and turning one arm into a blade. Ratchet struggled against the Prime's hold but could do little about it, feeling the blade enter his chest. Yelling in agony, Ratchet pushed Optimus/Unicron back and simply fell off of the blade, ending up bleeding energon all over the ground beneath him.

Sam was upon the motionless and somewhat mangled form of Deadeye. Working one hand past the plates at the dead Autobot's chest, Sam found the extinguished life-spark and began to concentrate. The energy building around him was euphoria-inducing yet it lasted only a few seconds but felt like hours, sending a life-inducing jolt through Deadeye and weakening Sam considerably. Collapsing off of the now resurrected Autobot, Sam could barely stand and simply rolled over and watched Deadeye stand up. The young Autobot carried with him a warm blue glow while his mangled wounds had since closed up and regenerated. He looked to Sam, a bemused expression on his metallic features.

"What just happened?" He asked.

"I think I might have just fucked you," Sam said, trying to stand up.

Optimus/Unicron turned around, losing interest in the wounded Ratchet and looking towards Deadeye.

"**Why look, it's the prodigal son!"** Unicron's voice was condescending, full of contempt for the Autobot before him. **"Would you harm your own father to get to me?"**

Deadeye brought out his blade but noticeably hesitated. Unicron took advantage of this by raising one gun and firing, sending an overcharged shot straight into Deadeye's chest. The young Autobot stumbled but stood his ground. The glow around him seemed to brighten as he raised one of his weapons with his non-sword wielding arm, firing a shot that burned with a ferocious blue glow. It collided with Optimus' form, sending him falling backwards and flattening a parked Sector Eight SUV. The car alarm sounded, punctuating the staggering silence of the quarry. Optimus was back on his feet clearly. Rather surprisingly, Optimus' voice could be heard, something that threw Deadeye off even more.

"Don't let him get to you, Deadeye," Optimus said, "He can't survive long outside a body…Kill him…"

"But I'll kill you…"

Optimus shouted in pain as the Unicron presence with him took over again.

"**I can see it in your eyes,"** Unicron said, starting Optimus' form towards the hesitant Deadeye, **"You can't kill your own father, can you?"**

"I'll do whatever's necessary," Deadeye said.

Above, a Venezuelan military helicopter had flown into view. Lennox stood at the side door, a megaphone at his mouth.

"_Sam! Autobots! The Venezuelans have called in a complete air strike! They're going to destroy the entire quarry! Get out of there! It'll arrive any minute!"_

Optimus lunged, his blade swiping against Deadeye's front and creating a nasty gash. Deadeye ducked underneath the subsequent blow, bringing up his own blade and sticking it through Optimus' stomach area. Optimus' voice cried out in pain, mingled with the throaty tones of Unicron's.

Optimus punched Deadeye with his free hand, sending the Autobot into the ground again. Standing over him, he went to bring his blade down but Deadeye rolled out of the way, jumping onto his feet and bringing his own blade into his father's side. Optimus yelled in agony as the blade cut through him, with Deadeye sweeping it out of his front and sending a mix of energon fluid and molten metal spilling forth.

Sam was on his feet by now, waddling towards one of the deeper holes blasted in the quarry. Some distance away, the roar of a large plane's engines could be heard. The bomber was on its way, carrying with it some of the largest explosive ordnance in existence. Sam did not think he would get away in time but he had been warned this might happen. He just had not reckoned he would see a fight-to-the-death between Optimus and Deadeye.

Optimus stumbled, clutching at his stomach area in an effort to hold in the energon fluid that was spilling out.

"**You kill me, you kill your father,"** Unicron said, turning Optimus' optics towards him.

Deadeye stopped in front of him, blade at the ready.

"Then jump into me," Deadeye said, much to the surprise of Ratchet and Sam.

"Are you insane, Deadeye?" Ratchet shouted, rising to his feet, "It's not worth it! Your father would want you to leave!"

"We're all dead if we don't get out of here," Deadeye said, "Unicron knows this. But Optimus can get away, as can you and Sam. I can fight Unicron. I know it. If he's inside me, it's my terms he has to contend with."

"**A noble offer,"** Unicron stated flatly, **"This vessel was getting too damaged anyway."** Within seconds the red glow shimmering around Optimus vanished, collecting just outside the Prime's body. It shot straight at Deadeye, seeping in through his mouth, the gaps in his armour plating, around his optics…anywhere it could.

Optimus came to almost immediately, looking towards Deadeye with a despairing gaze.

"Deadeye…Why?" He croaked.

"Optimus, we have to leave!" Ratchet shouted, "Otherwise we're all dead!"

Deadeye had since fallen to his knees, his bluish glow mingling with the red one that was overtaking him. He looked towards his father, trying to fight the powerful evil presence that was roaming around within him.

"Go…before I can't contain him anymore…" Deadeye said, rather feebly.

Optimus took one last look at his son, the heir to the Prime dynasty and the only thing left who reminded him of his bond-partner. For once, he was proud of him. He knew that Deadeye had always wanted his father to recognize his potential, his talents. He was the best sharpshooter out of all of the Autobots Optimus had known.

"I've always been proud of you," Optimus said. His gaze met with Deadeye's and there was a silent understanding between the two then and there. Whatever issues they had had with one another were gone now.

Optimus turned around and started running. Deadeye collapsed onto the ground, writhing about, trying to contain the evil presence within him for as long as he could. There was only a few moments before the bombs fell, before the torment was over…Looking up to see the bomber flying overhead, it was perhaps the most welcome sight of his life. Unicron saw this as well and realized, for the first time during his very long existence, that he was not as omnipotent as he had always considered himself to be.

* * *

There was nothing left of the quarry compound afterwards. The alien ruins had all been but destroyed and Lennox, Epps, Winters, Morshower, James, Jones and Simmons had all watched the spectacular set of explosions from a ridge outside the compound. The ground had shaken beneath their feet and the debris had rained down for a mile or so. All of them knew that it was over: there were no more Autobots, no more Decepticons. There was no more reason for them to be here.

"It's a damn waste," Simmons said once the smoke had cleared.

"Damn right," James replied.

Lennox was the first to notice the two familiar figures emerging from the rubble. His gaze lit up noticeably and he made sure to point out the pair to the others if they had not yet seen them. Optimus and Ratchet, though both wounded and weary, were a welcome sight.

"So...Are you two all that's left?" Lennox asked, approaching the two Autobots.

"Where's Sam?" James asked, sounding concerned. Optimus simply shook his head.

"We lost track of him seconds before the bombs fell," Optimus explained, "We're the only two that survived."

"At least Unicron's beat, huh?" Epps asked, although his frustrated tone betrayed his optimism. For a victory like this, the cost had been high…_too_ high. In fact, it did not feel like they had won. Not like past battles, where they might have taken only a few losses but never enough to outweigh their victory. This time, the victory they had received felt like a defeat…a rather major one at that.

Neither Optimus nor Ratchet said anything more after that. Optimus pondered all that had happened, what he had seen in the message left for him: there had been a cycle, one Unicron had consistently taken advantage of, adjusting his plans each time. Now it had been broken and Unicron permanently defeated. All this from Skyrunner, his lost love who had never been all she seemed. Yet to have lost Deadeye, the only remaining member of his family…he looked to Ratchet and exchanged glances with him. Nothing was the same anymore.

"So what do we do now?" Jones asked. No one had an answer.

* * *

Sam Witwicky awoke to find himself half buried in rubble and lying at the bottom of a deep hole in the quarry. With some effort he heaved the rocks that had buried him up to his waist, removing them and crawling free of them.

Rising to his feet, he carefully climbed out of the hole, becoming aware of an odd sensation in his chest…He remembered what he had been shown, about conceiving the future of the Cybertronian race. That was his destiny, apparently. How he would do that was anyone's guess.

The grounds of the quarry had been completely obliterated. Everything had been destroyed, including the alien ruins. There seemed no evidence of Deadeye although Sam decided to take a better look, moving to where the alien ruins had once stood.

Amongst the rubble was the scorched and severed right arm of Deadeye. Taking a closer look, Sam could just make out a soft red glow around it as the last of Unicron's essence struggled to survive. It had only been part of Unicron's overall essence but it was more than enough to cause some serious damage.

Hefting up a large rock, Sam brought it smashing down upon the arm, crushing it. He did this a few times, completely smashing apart the arm until the red glow had vanished. Tossing the rock aside once the deed was done, Sam sat himself upon a set of rocks and simply started thinking. Everything that had happened had happened for a reason. His transformation, his visions, his destruction of the "demon" that had plagued those visions…

He sat there for a while before the military finally found him. As the Venezuelan soldiers began to clear up the rocks and reveal further pieces of Deadeye's remains, Sam could do little as they bundled him up into the back of a truck for transport out of the country. The new life ahead of him had never been the one he wanted but, like it or not, it was his destiny. And sometimes destiny could screw someone over completely.

* * *

**Afterword (can be ignored):**

Finally, I've finished it. My longest, darkest, most serious story ever. Go ahead and comment on both volumes as a whole if you really want to: I am fully aware of just how serious and depressing the story became. Volume I started off like a light-hearted adventure before becoming serious towards the end. Volume II, on the other hand…let's just say I'm a pessimistic person by nature. That tends to carry over into my writing, with the bad guys always being one step ahead of the good guys and the outlook of things to be very bleak.

I had this whole story planned from the beginning but even so it changed so much as I was writing that the outlines I wrote beforehand are practically redundant now. There was always going to be a "cycle" to fulfil or break: originally it would have Optimus being thrown back to the dawn of Cybertronian existence, effectively creating his own race and becoming Primus. I settled on something a bit different though, whether or not that's a good thing I can't be sure.

To put a being such as Unicron into a story presents many problems: the main problem is, he's the size of a planet. To put something like that into a story would completely throw off the scale of things. There was no real sensible way to do it, hence the whole "eye of Unicron" thing and the possession thing. And the whole "Sam is the future of the Cybertronian race" thing was something that was not in the original plan, which probably explains why it seems like a sudden thing to bring up so late in the story.  
Regardless, I'm glad to have finally finished this epic that had been sitting in my mind for quite some time. I hope you're enjoyed it, or maybe you thought it was too depressing? I don't know. I always struggle ending my stories, so if you think the ending is a cop-out or suck or whatever…that's just because I can't really write endings. There were simply too many characters and too many plot threads to tie up.


End file.
